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OLD MORTALITY 


D. 


BY 


SIR WALTER SCOTT, Bart. 

\' 


WITH INTRODUCTION 


BY 


IAN MACLAREN 







BOSTON, U.S.A. 

C. HEATH & CO., PUBLISHERS 
1902 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, . 
Two CoWb« Received 

OCT. a 1902 


OncvwnwT entry 
^ ~ l c\ 0 ~L- 

Ul.ASS KXc No. 


3> *7 5 S' 

COPY 8. 


*• " 



INTRODUCTION TO OLD MORTALITY 

By Ian MacLaren 



When Sir Walter opened the novel of “ Old Mortal- 
ity” on the 5th May, 1679, and plunged into the life of 
that day in the west of Scotland, he took his courage in 
both his hands, for he chose the period and the scene 
of the hottest conflict in Scots history. The Scots 
have been a turbulent and unmanageable people from 
early days; fighting among themselves, Lowlanders 
against Highlanders, and Highlander against High- 
lander ; raiding England when they could, or being 
raided in turn ; treating their kings with scant cere- 
mony, and the ancient Roman Church with even less ; 
pushing their fortune in foreign parts, and serving 
where any one hired their swords. With the exception 
of the period of the Commonwealth, when Cromwell, 
alone of all rulers, mastered Scotland, the land was 
never quiet until toward the end of the eighteenth cen- 
tury, when, under the growth of commerce, following 
the union with England in 1707, and the power of the 
Kirk of Scotland then established in the land, the people 
learned to live industriously and orderly, and laid the 
foundations of the present prosperity, character, and 
intelligence of their nation. Wherever a novelist chose ' 
to enter Scots history, from the days of James I to the 
landing of Prince Charlie, he found himself in a scene 
of turmoil, rich in striking incidents and picturesque 
characters. Owing partly to the wildness of the scenery, 
partly to the intensity of the people, the history of Scot- 

Copyright, 1902, by D. C. Heath & Co. 
iii 


IV 


OLD MORTALITY 


land has been one long romance, and from the Reforma- 
tion religion was the original cause and burning fire of 
every controversy. No one can understand later ’ Scots 
history or any part thereof without fixing in his mind 
that religion has played the chief part in the motion of 
Scots life, and that the Scots have been ready to argue 
and to fight, not only about the great principles which 
have divided, say the Roman from the Protestant faiths, 
but also about the jots and tittles of their creed. Fine 
scruples have created parties within the Scots Kirk 
which are almost innumerable, and which certainly now 
are unintelligible to the modern mind ; and perhaps the 
fire was hottest in the period of “ Old Mortality.” Sir 
Walter has crystallized the Praefervidum Ingenium of 
the Scots folk in this book, and staged, not the politics 
only, but the theology of Scotland. Any one with the 
slightest imagination can appreciate the play of the 
story, for there is love and war, plotting and treachery, 
comedy and tragedy; but no one can enter into its 
meaning unless he understands the ideas which lay be- 
hind its actions. 

The division of the English nation into Cavaliers and 
Puritans had its counterpart, though with certain dis- 
tinctions, among the Scots, where there were two, and 
in the end, three parties. One, represented in the days 
of Charles I by Graham, Marquis of Montrose, was in 
favor of the Church of Scotland being conformed to 
the principles and customs of the Church of England, 
with a prayer-book for worship and bishops for gover- 
nors. The other, whose representative was the Marquis 
of Argyll, desired that the Church of Scotland should 
retain the model she had had from the Reformation, 
using her own Book of Order, sometimes called Knox’s 
Liturgy, or extempore prayer, and being ruled by Pres- 
byters of equal rank. With the Episcopal principle of 


IAN MACLAREN’S INTRODUCTION 


V 


government went also the theory of divine right, and 
one may say the system of feudalism ; with the princi- 
ple of Presbyterianism went the idea of a limited mon- 
archy and the love of democracy : so that the division 
between the two parties extended over the whole field of 
national life, political, social, and religious ; but it came 
to a head and was largely fought on the point of church 
government. It was, however, characteristic of the 
subtlety of the Scots mind and its love of distinctions 
that the Scots nation as a whole not only deeply re- 
sented the execution of Charles I, but crowned Charles 
II as king and took up arms for him, while at the same 
time they made him sign the Solemn League and Cove- 
nant and abjure prelacy, both of which things that un- 
principled monarch did with cheerful alacrity. It was 
at this time that a division began to emerge between the 
Presbyterians, which were now divided into a more mod- 
erate and a more extreme party, a division which we 
shall see sustained in an interesting fashion throughout 
the novel. In 1660, that is, nineteen years before the 
opening of our story, Charles II was restored both to 
the throne of England and of Scotland — in England 
largely by the influence of Presbyterians, and in Scot- 
land without any opposition from that party, a fact which 
illustrates the remarkable and unshaken loyalty to the 
throne which has been sometimes an almost fatal and at 
other times a very pathetic characteristic of the Presby- 
terian Communion. The restoration of Charles II to 
the throne of Scotland was a revolution in the govern- 
ment of the country, and was followed by an extreme 
license of manners which lasted far into the eighteenth 
century, and by a restriction of liberty which was ended 
by the Revolution settlement in 1688. The Kirk of 
Scotland was placed under the government of prelates, 
of whom the worst was Archbishop Sharp, who had 


VI 


OLD MORTALITY 


been a Presbyterian minister, and while acting as a com- 
missioner for his church in London at the time of the 
Restoration, went over to the other side, and was made 
primate of Scotland with lamentable consequences to 
himself ; and the best was Archbishop Leighton, who 
was a man of personal piety and elevated views, and 
who did his utmost, although in vain, to make peace in 
Scotland. The Marquis of Argyll and other leading 
Presbyterians were sent to the scaffold as a reward for 
their loyalty to Charles II when he was an outcast from 
England, and the Solemn League and Covenant was 
declared an unlawful oath. Not only the acts of the 
Presbyterian regime, but its habit of life, were as it were 
repealed. The affairs of Scotland were handed over to 
a body of disreputable statesmen who, according to 
Bishop Burnet, were perpetually drunk. On the 4th 
October, 1662, a proclamation was issued by the Scots 
government that every minister admitted to his parish 
since 1649, when patronage was abolished, should be 
banished from his parish unless he obtained a presenta- 
tion from the patron and sanction from his new bishop. 
It was difficult for the Earl of Middleton, who was sel- 
dom sober, to understand that any man was prepared to 
suffer for conscience’ sake, and it came as a surprise to 
the government and a blow to the bishops that four 
hundred ministers preferred to lose their living rather 
than deny their principles. It was a disastrous stroke of 
policy on the part of the government, and a calamity to 
Scotland, when the larger proportion of the ministers in 
the south and west of the country were evicted and the 
churches for the time closed, and it roused the deepest 
indignation throughout the districts affected. Nothing 
has ever made the Scots people so angry or so intractable 
as any interference with religion, and when the inter- 
ference has risen to persecution this stubborn people 


IAN MACLAREN'S INTRODUCTION 


vii 


have defied all control. It was with the utmost difficulty 
that the bishops could secure incumbents for the vacant 
parishes, and, according to Bishop Burnet, who may be 
accepted as a fairly impartial authority since he was a 
bishop of the Church of England, many of the curates 
appointed were ignorant and vicious men — “a disgrace 
to their orders and the sacred function.” One result of 
this unstatesmanlike and tyrannical policy was that the 
people, especially in the west, absented themselves from 
church and refused the ministrations of the curates, and 
by and by began to meet in glens or upon the moors, 
where the evicted ministers preached to them and ad- 
ministered the Sacrament. In retaliation an act was 
passed that every minister who preached without the 
sanction of a bishop, and every person who absented 
himself from his parish church, should be punished, and 
the names of absentees from worship were given to the 
military authorities, who now began to hunt the evicted 
Presbyterians with cavalry. About this time several 
ministers were tortured by the “ boots ” and died upon 
the scaffold because, although they declared their loyalty 
to the king, they would not submit to prelacy ; and many 
were put to death in the west country with every cir- 
cumstance of cruelty. One of the officers employed in 
this disgusting work was General Dalziel, who appears 
in the novel at the battle of Bothwell Bridge, and a quo- 
tation from Bishop Burnet will give one an idea of this 
veteran’s ferocity, who had served under the Czar against 
the Turks, and had learned methods of savagery which 
struck terror even into Scotland. “ Dalziel acted the 
Muscovite too grossly,” says Burnet. “ He threatened 
to spit men, and to roast them ; and he killed some in 
cold blood, or rather hot blood ; for he was then drunk 
when he ordered one to be hanged because he would 
not tell where his father was, for whom he was in search. 


viii 


OLD MORTALITY 


By this means all people were struck with such terror 
that they came regularly to church, and the clergy were 
so delighted with it that they used to speak of that time 
as the poets do of the golden age.” 

As the state of affairs in the west of Scotland was 
growing steadily worse, the king granted an Act of In- 
dulgence which allowed the ministers to return to their 
parishes upon certain conditions, with the result of 
creating a serious division among the Presbyterian 
clergy. Some availed themselves of the provisions of 
the act, and resumed possession of their parishes, 
others indignantly rejected this overture, and became 
more extreme in their views ; so that in reading the novel 
one has to distinguish between the evicted ministers 
who were in hiding, and the “indulged” ministers who 
were in their parishes, and one has to enter into the 
feelings with which the extreme party regarded their 
more moderate brethren. There were the Cavaliers 
under Claverhouse hunting the Presbyterians, who were 
hiding on the moors and meeting in conventicles for 
worship ; and the Covenanters, growing ever more bitter 
and determined under this persecution, till at last they 
were ready to renounce allegiance to the king as well 
as to denounce the bishops ; and there were the less ex- 
treme Presbyterians, who thought that their brethren 
had gone too far, and endeavored to reconcile their 
own religious principles with loyalty to the government. 
This was the situation when “Old Mortality” opened, 
and these were the feelings which moved its characters. 

When we come to the parties in the novel, the Cava- 
liers were represented by Graham of Claverhouse, by 
Major Bellenden, by Sergeant Bothwell, and by Dalziel, 
among the men, and by Lady Margaret Bellenden and 
Miss Edith Bellenden among the women. The major 
is intended to represent the best type of Cavalier, 


IAN MA CLAREN'S INTRODUCTION 


IX 


honest, convinced, generous, pious, and kind-hearted, 
who does not wish any one to be injured who is not an 
actual rebel against the king, and who would not deal 
very severely with rebels if they would only give some 
signs of repentance. It is interesting to know there 
was a Cavalier of that day called Bellenden. Dalziel 
stands for the type of a relentless and iron-handed 
soldier, who cannot forget the murder of Charles I, and 
has learned habits of cruelty in the service of the Czar, 
and who would slay quite as readily as Bellenden would 
spare. According to the Covenanting historians, how- 
ever, he had moments of pity and kindness. In “ The 
Scots Worthies ” it is told of Dalziel that, when he saw 
Captain John Paton, a famous Covenanter, brought to 
Edinburgh as a prisoner, that the general, who knew 
him of old, took him in his arms, saying, “ John, I am 
both glad and sorry to see you. If I had met you on 
the way, before you came hither, I should have set you 
at liberty ; but now it is too late. But be not afraid, I 
will write to his Majesty for your life.” The captain 
replied, “You will not be heard.” Dalziel said, “Will 
I not ? If he does not grant me the life of one man, I 
shall never draw a sword for him again.” And it is 
said that, having spoken some time together, a man 
came and said to the captain, “ You are a rebel to the 
king; ” to whom he replied, “ Friend, I have done more 
for the king than perhaps thou hast done.” Dalziel said, 
“ Yes, John, that is true ” (perhaps meaning at Worces- 
ter) ; and struck the man on the head with his cane till 
he staggered, saying he would teach him better manners 
than to use such a prisoner so. After this and more 
reasoning, the captain thanked him for his courtesy, 
and they parted. 

While the world is inclined to place Claverhouse 
somewhere between the class Bellenden represented 


X 


OLD MORTALITY 


and Dalziel, who only represented a few, like Sir 
James Turner and Grierson of Lag, Convenanting 
opinion in the past, and partisans of that side unto 
this day, believe Claverhouse to be a monster of in- 
iquity. Macaulay himself, who is neither a Covenanter 
nor an advocate of their particular case, asserts that 
Claverhouse goaded the peasantry of the western Low- 
lands into madness, and murdered an innocent and pious 
Covenanter called Brown by having him shot before his 
wife’s face. On the other hand, Claverhouse, like the 
Marquis of Montrose, has been exalted to the rank of 
a hero by the Cavalier partisans ; and in Napier’s 
“ Memoirs of Dundee,” by which title Claverhouse was 
latterly known, he appears as a high-spirited, chivalrous, 
patriotic Scotsman, as well as a gallant and unselfish 
soldier ; and this was also the portrait drawn by another 
Jacobite man of letters, Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, who 
accumulated an immense amount of antiquarian stuff on 
the Jacobite period in Scots history, and edited Kirkton’s 
“ Secret and True History of the Church of Scotland from 
the Restoration to the Year 1678,” and appended to this 
history a large number of notes in the Cavalier interest. 
“ Bloody Claverhouse ” was the Covenanting tradition, 
and “ Bonnie Dundee ” the Cavalier description, of the 
same man ; and it is only less difficult to hold the scales 
of justice in the case of Claverhouse than in the case of 
Mary Queen of Scots. Some things are certain, as, for 
instance, that, according to the portrait by Sir Peter Lely, 
as well as in other portraits which have been used in 
Napier’s life, he appears as a very handsome man, of 
delicate and almost feminine beauty, whose long love- 
locks fall over his shoulders, and whose face has from 
the beginning a sad expression. One notices, however, 
that in every portrait there is an expression of under- 
lying determination, and that when one compares the 


IAN M ACL AREN'S INTRODUCTION 


xi 


latest with the earliest the face has hardened and 
stiffened. It is to his credit that he was on bad terms 
with the drunken and time-serving politicians of the 
day, and that he remained throughout his career a de- 
voted and unselfish loyalist, doing all that in him lay 
for the Stewart family, with very little thanks from 
either them or their advisers, and dying at the battle of 
Killiecranckie, fighting for a lost cause. He was be- 
loved by his soldiers, to whose interests he was always 
loyal, and would quarrel at the council board with the 
most influential men who did not do justice by the 
soldiers. There was about him a romantic attraction, 
and it was not the least of his exploits that he won the 
heart of Lady Jean Cochrane, whose mother was an 
extreme Covenanter, but whose own heart he touched 
in spite of every prejudice against him. On the after- 
noon of his marriage day he was called away on military 
duty against the friends of his mother-in-law, and when 
he returned to his bride, three days afterwards, he had 
to leave again for the Moors on the same day, so 
that no man ever had a more troubled honeymoon. 
There seems little doubt that he was one of those men 
who hide, behind a fair face and graceful manners, a de- 
termined will and an unswerving purpose ; that to his 
friends he was loyal, tender, and true, to his enemies, 
or to the enemies of his cause, merciless and irreconcil- 
able ; and that it was his lot to be loved at any sacrifice 
by his soldiers and his wife, to be distrusted by temporizing 
opportunists, and to be detested and feared by the other 
side. There is no question, in spite of all the apologies 
of his biographer Napier, and the glamour cast round 
him in Aytoun’s “ Lays of the Scots Cavaliers,” that he 
treated the Covenanters with great cruelty and did not 
shrink from military murders. Perhaps, on the whole, the 
study of Graham by Sir Walter Scott in “ Old Mortality,” 


OLD MORTALITY 


xii 

although it had been severely attacked by Dr. Thomas 
McCrie in his review of “ Tales of My Landlord,” is not 
far from the truth, where full justice is done to his per- 
sonal attractiveness and disinterested loyalty, while his 
utter disregard for the rights of the people and his in- 
difference to suffering are justly represented. 

Should the high-flown sentiment of Lady Margaret 
Bellenden and her fearless loyalty seem exaggerated, it 
may interest readers to know that the wife of the Laird 
of Methven in Perthshire went forth, in the absence of 
her husband, at the head of her vassals; and dispersed a 
conventicle which was meeting in her district; and she 
writes to her husband in London, whom she calls My 
Heart Keeper and My Precious Love, announcing 
proudly that there were now no conventicles on her 
land, and describing the Presbyterians as an ignorant, 
wicked pack. She also gives much good advice how 
every parish should be armed, “ the stout loyal hearts 
joining,” and declares her confidence that if this 
was done these “vaging gipsies would settle.” Miss 
Edith Bellenden was more fitted for love than war, but 
her grandmother was of the stout old Cavalier breed, 
and if she had been a little younger would have been 
quite willing to deal with the Covenanters in her 
district. 

It has been urged by the writers in the Covenanters’ 
interests, that Scott in this novel has done scant justice 
to the ministers, and it was perhaps scarcely worthy of 
the great novelist to prejudice their case by caricaturing 
their names. One is inclined beforehand to laugh at 
clergymen who are called Poundtext or Kettledrummle, 
or Habakkuk Mucklewrath, and one is not moved to 
seriousness by the pedantic harangues which they de- 
liver couched in antique Scripture language. The 
reader must remember, in order to keep an even mind, 


IAN MACLAREN'S INTRODUCTION xiii 

that the names are only one of Scott’s jests and the 
license of a novelist, and that the Presbyterian minis- 
ter did not pound his text any more clumsily, and that 
he was not any more a. kettledrum in a matter of noise, 
than the Episcopalian curate of the day. If in scanda- 
lous books like “Scots Presbyterian Eloquence Dis- 
played,” Episcopalians collected together some strange 
passages from mystical writers like Samuel Rutherford, 
Presbyterians in their “Answer” produced still more 
remarkable passages both of speech and conduct. As 
a matter of fact Presbyterian ministers were in many 
cases powerful preachers, and the evidence thereof is, 
that they moved the people to endure great sufferings 
for conscience’ sake ; and so profound was the impres- 
sion produced on the west country folk, at least by the 
ministry of the Covenanters, that in a book published in 
the year 1687 it is stated “that no sooner did any poor 
souls come to a serious sense of religion, and were 
brought under any real exercise of spirit about their 
souls’ concerns, but as soon they did fall out with prel- 
acy and left the curates.” On the other hand, it may 
be freely granted that the Covenanters preached at 
enormous length, that they drew far too much from the 
Old Testament and far too little from the New, that 
they had a bitter hatred of prelacy, and that they had 
not the slightest idea of the . principle of toleration. 
Poundtext in the novel represents the more moderate 
Presbyterian who had accepted the indulgence, but it is 
a flaw in the picture that he is not made a more cul- 
tured and reasonable man, and that, although there are 
differences, he approximates too closely to Kettle- 
drummle. One cannot tell who sat for Poundtext, but 
for Kettledrummle and Mucklewrath one suspects that 
Scott depended upon the lives of Peden and Cameron, 
as told with remarkable felicity of style by Patrick 


XIV 


OLD MORTALITY 


Walker, in the book called “ Biographia Presbyteriana,” 
now published under the title of “ Six Saints of the 
Covenant,” and edited by Hay Fleming, the Scots his- 
torian, with a preface by S. R. Crockett, the novelist. 
Patrick Walker could tell a story with engaging vigor, 
and was a great favorite with Robert Louis Stevenson, 
who, in his “Letters,” Vol. II, p. 312, says: “I have 
lately been returning to my wallowing in the mire. 
When I was a child, and indeed until I was nearly a 
man, I consistently read Covenanting books. Now that 
I am a gray-beard — or would be if I could raise the 
beard — I have returned, and for weeks back have read 
little else but Wodrow, Walker, Shields, etc.” Mac- 
Briar, whom Scott treats with more respect, is almost 
certainly Hugh McKail, a young clergyman of delicate 
constitution and beautiful character, who threw himself 
into the Covenanting cause, and was involved in the 
“ Pentland Rising.” He was taken prisoner and put to 
death in Edinburgh in the twenty-sixth year of his age. 
During his trial he was tortured in the “ Boots,” and 
Scott has used the scene in “ Old Mortality.” McKail 
was a high-spirited enthusiast, and his last words on the 
scaffold were : “ I ascend to my Father and your Father, 
to my God and your God — to my King and your King, 
to the blessed Apostles and Martyrs, and to the city of 
the living God, the Heavenly Jerusalem, to an innum- 
erable company of Angels, to the general assembly of 
the firstborn, to God the Judge of all, to the spirits of 
just men made perfect, and to Jesus the Mediator of the 
new Covenant; and I bid you all farewell, for God will 
be more comfortable to you than I could be, and he will 
be now more refreshing to me than you could be. Fare- 
well, farewell in the Lord ! ” Of the moderate Presby- 
terian clergy, so poorly represented by Poundtext, Scott 
might have taken men like Robert Douglas, of whom it 


IAN MACLAREN’S INTRODUCTION 


xv 


was written, “ He was a great state preacher, one of the 
greatest of that age in Scotland, for he feared no man 
to declare the mind of God to him, yet very accessible 
and easy to be conversed with,” or Lawrence Charteris, 
who was described by Bishop Burnet as “a perfect 
friend and a most sublime Christian. He did not talk 
of the defects of his kind like an angry reformer, but 
like a man full of a deep but humble sense of them.” 
He used to say the defection among us has been “ from 
the temper and conversation which the Gospel requires 
of us.” Above all, he could have chosen Leighton, who 
was first of all a Presbyterian minister and then a 
bishop, but above all a Christian ; and Carstares, who was 
persecuted before the Reformation, and after the Refor- 
mation became the most powerful man in Scotland, who 
showed the greatest kindness to the party that had 
persecuted him, and was beyond question the ablest 
clergyman of his day. 

Archbishop Sharp, whose murder by certain extreme 
Presbyterians plays a part in the novel, was once a 
Presbyterian minister, and then accepted a bishopric, 
but was a great contrast to Leighton, being as much dis- 
liked as Leighton was loved. It was to Sharp that 
Douglas said, when there was a question of the archbis- 
hopric of St. Andrew’s, “Take it, James, take it, and 
the curse of God be on you for your treacherous deal- 
ing.” The assassination of Sharp was both a crime and 
a mistake, but it was the *isk that a persecutor must 
always take — Sharp was a very bitter one ; and al- 
though Scott makes Claverhouse regret Sharp’s murder, 
there were not many in Scotland to mourn the arch- 
bishop’s removal. 

The skirmish of Drumclog and the battle of Bothwell 
Bridge took place very much as described; and the 
commander on both occasions was Sir Robert Hamilton 


XVI 


OLD MORTALITY 


of Preston, a man of extreme views and pragmatical 
judgment, and the controversies before the battle were 
hardly exaggerated. Scott, of course, used the license 
of a novelist in relating the disputes between the moder- 
ate and the extreme parties, and the absurd points which 
were discussed, but he had a warrant in the writings of 
the period. There is no question that the Covenanting 
army spent their time before the battle of Bothwell 
Bridge, not in preparing themselves to meet Monmouth, 
but in wrangling about points of doctrine and the ques- 
tion as to whether Presbyterians who had received the 
indulgence should be tolerated by their brethren. 

It is always a great misfortune when any body of men 
are driven into extreme views and desperate actions, for 
they become either absurd or fanatical, and the real con- 
science and courage of the Covenanters have been much 
disfigured by a want of charity in their utterances and 
common sense in their policy ; but it is well to remember 
they were not all Kettledrummles, and* that Scott himself 
declares, in a note to “Old Mortality,” that if he had 
to rewrite the tale, he would give the moderate party a 
better representative than Peter Poundtext. Perhaps 
it is not wonderful that the other side, who certainly 
had poetry for their ally, used to laugh at the Covenant- 
ers’ strictness; and in Hogg’s “Jacobite Relics,” first 
series, there is an amusing squib called the “ Cameronian 
Cat,” in which the Presbyterian hangs his cat for catch- 
ing a mouse upon the Sabbath day, and the song is set 
to an ancient psalm tune. In a note to the song the 
author declares that he has heard Covenanters, in dis- 
tributing the Sacrament, debar from the Lord’s table 
“all the men that had ever danced opposite to a woman, 
and every woman that had ever danced with her face 
toward a man ; all the men who looked at their cattle or 
crops, and all the women who pulled green kail or scraped 


IAN MACL AREN’S INTRODUCTION xvii 

Dctatoes ; on the Sabbath day.” There also appears to be 
no doubt that the Covenanters condemned tbs use of 
fanners for cleaning corn, because they were an attempt 
to supersede the natural wind of God. If a novelist de- 
sired to have his fun, he had ample opportunity in the 
extravagances of the extreme Presbyterian party. As a 
matter of fact, there could be no peace in Scotland till 
both sides had learned toleration. 

The Duke of Lauderdale, who presides at the council 
before which Morton and Cuddie Headrigg appeared, and 
which tortured MacBriar, was the chief figure of his day 
in Scotland, and had, like many another Scot, a varied 
career. John Maitland began life as a Presbyterian ; and 
in 1643, when he was about thirty years of age,, he at- 
tended the Westminster Assembly as an elder of the Kirk, 
and in 1645 he consented to the surrender of Charles 1 
to the English army. Some time after that he went over 
to the other side and fought for the Stewarts at the battle 
of Worcester. He next appears at the court of Charles II 
abroad, and after the Restoration he became the repre- 
sentative of the king in Scotland. He was a coarse man 
in face and nature, and dealt severely with the Cove- 
nanters, but he was determined and capable, and used to 
study his Hebrew Bible. In 1672 his title was raised 
from Earl to Duke of Lauderdale. He died in 1682, 
and is, on the whole, very fairly represented in the 
council scene, and very shrewdly hit by Claverhouse 
when Lauderdale taunts Graham with having a Whig 
for his friend. “ Yes, please your Grace, a Whig, as your 
Grace was in 1641,” replied Claverhouse, with his usual 
appearance of imperturbable civility. “ He has you 
there, I think, my Lord Duke,” said one of the privy 
councillors. The administration of Lauderdale was so 
unscrupulous and so tyrannical that Hallam, in his 
“Constitutional History,” declares that no part of 


xviii OLD MORTALITY 

modern history for so long a period can be compared 
for the wickedness of government with the Scots admin- 
istration of this reign. 

The Duke of Monmouth, who commanded the royal 
troops at the battle of Bothwell Bridge, was the son of 
Charles II and Lucy Walters. In 1663 he was made 
Duke of Monmouth, being then fourteen years old, and 
in 1665 he married the daughter of the Earl of Buc- 
cleuch. He was brave, handsome, weak, vicious, and 
was used as a puppet in politics. In 1679 he was sent 
to Scotland to put down the Covenanting insurrection, 
and gained popularity in Scotland by his merciful dis- 
position. Having rebelled against James II and been 
utterly defeated, he was executed in 1685, regretted by 
no person except the poor peasantry of the west of 
England, whom he had misled. He had all his father’s 
vices and none of his father’s abilities. 

It only remains, in parting from history, to give a 
brief sketch of the extraordinary figure who afforded 
the title of “ Old Mortality ” to the novel. Robert Pat- 
erson was born in the year 1715 and in the parish of 
Hawick, and about the year 1746 he obtained the lease 
of a quarry in the parish of Moreton, where, having 
married, he set up house. Even at this time he had 
strong convictions, for when the Highland army were 
returning from England during the Jacobite rebellion, 
Paterson lifted up his testimony against them with such 
vehemence that they carried him a prisoner to Glasgow. 
He became a member of the extreme sect of Presby- 
terians called the Cameronians, named after Richard 
Cameron, and he began to take gravestones from his 
quarry, and to set them up where the martyrs were 
buried. By and by he deserted his home and family 
altogether, and wandered over the country wherever 
xhere were Covenanting burial-places, erecting grave- 


IAN MACLAREN’S INTRODUCTION 


xix 


stones or renewing their inscriptions as the moss filled 
them up. He travelled from one place to another on a 
white pony, and his wants were supplied by some mem- 
ber of his sect, who honored him for the work which 
he did. And one day, about the beginning of the nine- 
teenth century, he was found dying on the highroad to 
Lockerbie, with his pony standing beside him, but no 
one knows where he was buried. 

Apart from the action of the story and its masterful 
controversies, “Old Mortality” will ever fascinate the 
reader by its accurate and lifelike presentation of Scots 
character on its many sides. There is Major Bellenden, 
a fine type of the chivalrous and God-fearing laird of 
ancient family, with whom Scott loved to associate and 
who was of his own breed ; and there is old Morton of 
Milnwood, the laird who has sprung from the people, 
thrifty, shrewd, cautious, with a touch of repulsive hard- 
ness in him, and not a little meanness. There is the old 
housekeeper, so touchy about her dignity, desiring to be 
called Mistress Alison, even by young Morton, whom 
she loved, so careful of her master’s goods, and so severe 
upon his nephew when he threatened to spend them, so 
kind of heart in time of trouble, so jealous about the 
family honor, and so incorruptibly honest regarding 
herself as nothing but a trustee of everything for young 
Morton’s interest; and Jenny, Miss Bellenden’s maid, 
very shrewd also in her own way, and clever to the last 
degree in the management of men, from Claverhouse’s 
troopers to her faithful lover Cuddie, with a keen eye to 
the main chance, and full of tricks, but a faithful servant 
to her mistress, and a wise loyal wife after she was 
married, — both excellent types of Scots women servants. 
There was Niel Blane, the innkeeper, a very cunning 
Scot, who kept in with both sides and treated each ac- 
cording to their liking ; who let Burley have his rest and 


XX 


OLD MORTALITY 


refreshment, but would not let him have a private room 
lest he should be accused of hiding a Hill man, and gave 
the troopers their drink without inquiring too closely 
about payment, since they were ready to sell cows to 
him cheaply, which they had got still more cheaply 
from some helpless Covenanter ; and Cuddie Headrigg, 
who was as stupid as one of his own oxen when it suited 
him not to understand, but knew what to do in an emer- 
gency when his master’s life was in danger, who would 
not have sacrificed his dish of kail for all the covenants 
in the world, and was quite cleansed from sentiment, but 
was as loyal as steel to the man he served. There is the 
tender-hearted and pious Cameronian widow, who saw 
her son executed “on the green before his mother’s 
face,” and because of that sight was blind henceforward, 
and yet sheltered Evandale and saved his life because 
“ betraying Lord Evandale’s young blood to his enemies’ 
sword wad ne’er hae brought my Ninian and Johnie 
alive again ” ; and Sergeant Bothwell, the son of one of 
the wildest figures in Scots history, the Bothwell of King 
James VI days, and himself a reckless soldier of fortune 
who feared nobody either in life or death, — both faith- 
ful samples taken from the bulk of Scots life. “ Old 
Mortality ” is to be placed along with the “ Heart of 
Mid Lothian” and the “Antiquary,” and the three 
together form the finest portrait of Scots life ever drawn 
in literature. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


The Scots Worthies , by John Howie of Lochgoin. Revised from 
the author’s original edition by the Rev. W. H. Carslaw. 

The Secret and True History of the Church of Scotland, from the 
Restoration to the year 1678, by the Rev. Mr. James Kirkton, to 
which is added an account of the murder of Archbishop Sharp by 
James Russell, an actor therein. Edited from the Mss. by Charles 
Kirkpatrick Sharp, Esq. 

The Story of the Scottish Church, from the Reformation to the 
Disruption, by the Rev. Thomas M’Crie, D.D., LL.D., author of the 
“ Annals of English Presbytery,” etc. 

Six Saints of the Covenant, by Patrick Walker. Edited with illus- 
trative documents, introduction, notes, and a glossary, by D. Hay 
Fleming, and a foreword by S. R. Crockett. 2 vols. 

The Works of Thomas M'Crie , D.D., Vol. IV. Review of “ Tales 
of my Landlord.” 

The Church of Scotlajid, by Arthur Penrhyn Stanley, D.D., Dean 
of Westminster. Lecture 3. 

Three Lectures on the Church of Scotland, by Robert Rainy, D.D. 

The History of the Sufferings of the Church of Scotland, from the 
Restoration to the Revolution, by the Rev. Robert Wodrow, minister 
of the Gospel at Eastwood. 

William Car stares : a Character and Career of the Revolutionary 
Epoch (1649-1715), by Robert Herbert Story, Minister of Rosneath. 

Scotch Presbyterian Eloquence Display'd, or the Folly of their 
teaching Discover’d from their Books, sermons, Prayers, Etc., with 
considerable additions taken from scarce and valuable Mss., etc. 
London, Printed for and sold by the Bookseller. MDCCXC. Also 
“An Answer to the Scotch Presbyterian Eloquence” in three parts. 

1. Being a catalogue of the cruel and bloody laws made by the 
Scots Prelatists against the Presbyterians ; with instances of their 
numerous murders and other barbarities beyond the extent of those 
laws ; with reflections throughout demonstrating the lenity of their 
Majesties’ Government against the Scots Prelatists, and Clergy. 

2. Laying open all self-contradictions, impudent lies, horrible 
blasphemies, and disloyalty of the obscene, scurrilous pamphlet 
called the “ Scots Presbyterian Eloquence.” 

3. Being a collection of their ridiculous expressions in sermons, 
and instances of the vitious lives of their Bishops and Clergy. 
London. Printed for the Booksellers, MDCCLXXXIX. (Both rare 
books.) 

Memorials and Letters , illustrative of the Life and Times of John 
Graham of Claverhouse, Viscount Dundee, by Mark Napier. 3 vols. 

Montrose a?id the Covenanters , their characters and conduct, by 


xxi 


XXII 


OLD MORTALITY 


Mark Napier. (This book refers to an earlier period than “Old 
Mortality,” but it is a contribution to the controversies of the day 
from a Cavalier standpoint.) 

The Laird of Lag (Grierson). A Life Sketch by Alexander 
Fergusson, Lieut.-Colonel. 

Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers , and other poems, by William 
Edmonstoune Aytoun, D.C.L., Professor of Rhetoric and English 
Literature in the University of Edinburgh. 

Memoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott , Bart ., by Lockhart. 
Vol. IV, pp. 30-39. 

Familiar Letters of Sir Walter Scott , 2 vols. (various places). 

The Journal of Sir Walter Scott , 4 vols. (See Vol. II, p. 404, 
where there is a note of great interest, giving Scott’s final judgment 
both on the Covenanters and the Cavaliers, and where reference is 
made to an article in defence of “ Old Mortality,” which appeared in 
the number for January of the Quarterly Review .) 

Hogg's Jacobite Relics , first and second series (where much in- 
formation about the way which people looked at things can be got 
from both sides) . 

The Lauderdale Papers , issued by the Camden Society : — 

Vol. I. Selections from the papers of the Duke of Lauderdale, 
temp. Car. II, edited by Osmund Airy, 1639-1667, 1884. 

Vol. II. Selections from the Lauderdale Papers, 1885. 

Vol. III. Selections from the Lauderdale Papers, 1885. 

History Vindicated in the case of “The Wigtown Martyrs,” by 
the Rev. Archibald Stewart, Minister of Glasserton. Second edition, 
Edinburgh, Edmonston, and Douglas, 1869. 

Bishop Burnet's “ History of his own Time." Edited by Osmund 
Airy, 1897. 

Robert Law , Memorials , or the Memorable things that fell out 
within the Island of Britain from 1638-1684. Edited by C. Kirk- 
patrick Sharp, Edinburgh, 1818. 

History of Scotland, Wo\. II, from the Accession of Mary Stewart 
to the Revolution of 1689, by P. Hume Brown, M.A., LL.D. Cam- 
bridge : at the University Press, 1902. 

The History of Scotland, by John Hill Burton. And other Stand- 
ard Histories in their relevant Passages. 

References in the Introduction are to Constable’s reprint of “ The 
Waverley Novels,” new edition, with the author’s notes, 48 vols., 
foolscap 8vo, 1829-1833. 


TALES OF MY LANDLORD 

Iflrst Series 


Hear, Land o’ Cakes and brither Scots, 

Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat’s, 

If there’s a hole in a’ your coats, 

I rede ye tent it ; 

A chiel’s amang you takin’ notes, 

An’ faith he’ll prent it ! 

Burns 









,h 







. 












Ahora bien , dixo il Cura, traedme, senor huesped, aquesos libros, 
que los quiero ver. Que me place, respondio el, y entrando en su 
aposento, saco del una maletilla vieja cerrada con una cadenilla, y 
abriendola hallo en ella tres libros grandes y unos papeles de muy 
buena letra escritos de mano. — Don Quixote, Parte I., Capitulo 
xxxii. 

It is mighty well, said the priest ; pray, landlord, bring me those 
books, for I have a mind to see them. With all my heart, answered 
the host ; and going to his chamber, he brought out a little old 
cloke-bag, with a padlock and chain to it, and opening it, he took 
out three large volumes, and some manuscript papers written in a 
fine character. — Jarvis’s Translation. 



















' 


INTRODUCTION TO OLD MORTALITY 


The remarkable person called by the title of Old Mortality 
was well known in Scotland about the end of the last century. 
His real name was Robert Paterson. He was a native, it is 
said, of the parish of Closeburn, in Dumfriesshire, and prob- 
ably a mason by profession — at least educated to the use of 
the chisel. Whether family dissensions, or the deep and en- 
thusiastic feeling of supposed duty, drove him to leave his 
dwelling, and adopt the singular mode of life in which he 
wandered, like a palmer, through Scotland, is not known. It 
could not be poverty, however, which prompted his journeys, 
for he never accepted anything beyond the hospitality which 
was willingly rendered him, and when that was not proffered, 
he always had money enough to provide for his own humble 
wants. His personal appearance, and favorite, or rather sole, 
occupation, are accurately described in the preliminary chapter 
of the following work. 

It is about thirty years since, or more, that the Author met 
this singular person in the churchyard of Dunnottar, when 
spending a day or two with the late learned and excellent 
clergyman, Mr. Walker, the minister of that parish, for the 

S urpose of a close examination of the ruins of the Castle of 
>unnottar, and other subjects of antiquarian research in that 
neighborhood. Old Mortality chanced to be at the same 
place, on the usual business of his pilgrimage ; for the Castle 
of Dunnottar, though lying in the anti-covenanting district of 
the Mearns, was, with the parish churchyard, celebrated for 
the oppressions sustained there by the Cameronians in the 
time of James II. 

It was in 1685, when Argyle was threatening a descent 
upon Scotland, and Monmouth was preparing to invade the 
west of England, that the privy council of Scotland, with cruel 
precaution, made a general arrest of more than a hundred per- 
sons in the southern and western provinces, supposed, from 
their religious principles, to be inimical to government, to- 
gether with many women and children. These captives were 
driven northward like a flock of bullocks, but with less pre- 
caution to provide for their wants, and finally penned up in 

ix 




WAVERLEY NOVELS 


a subterranean dungeon in the Castle of Dunnottar, having a 
window opening to the front of a precipice which overhangs 
the German Ocean. They had suffered not a little on the 
journey, and were much hurt both at the scoffs of the northern 
Prelatists, and the mocks, gibes, and contemptuous tunes 
played by the fiddlers and pipers who had come from every 
quarter as they passed, to triumph over the revilers of their 
calling. The repose which the melancholy dungeon afforded 
them was anything but undisturbed. The guards made them 
pay for every indulgence, even that of water ; and when some 
of "the prisoners resisted a demand so unreasonable, and insisted 
on their right to have this necessary of life untaxed, their 
keepers emptied the water on the prison floor, saying, “If 
they were obliged to bring water for the canting Whigs, they 
were not bound to afford them the use of bowls or pitchers 
gratis.” 

In this prison, which is still termed the Whigs* Vault, 
several died of the diseases incidental to such a situation ; and 
others broke their limbs, and incurred fatal injury, in des- 
perate attempts to escape from their stern prison-house. Over 
the graves of these unhappy persons, their friends, after the 
Revolution, erected a monument with a suitable inscription. 

This peculiar shrine of the Whig martyrs is very much 
honored by their descendants, though residing at a great dis- 
tance from the land of their captivity and death. My friend, 
the Rev. Mr. Walker, told me that, being once upon a tour 
in the south of Scotland, probably about forty years since, he 
had the bad luck to involve himself in the labyrinth of pas- 
sages and tracks which cross, in every direction, the extensive 
waste called Lochar Moss, near Dumfries, out of which it is 
scarcely possible for a stranger to extricate himself ; and there 
was no small difficulty in procuring a guide, since such peo- 
ple as he saw were engaged in digging their peats — a work 
of paramount necessity, which will hardly brook interruption. 
Mr. Walker could, therefore, only procure unintelligible direc- 
tions in the southern brogue, which differs widely from that 
of the Mearns. He was beginning to think himself in a 
serious dilemma, when he stated his case to a farmer of rather 
the better class, who was employed, as the others, in digging 
his winter fuel. The old man at first made the same excuse 
with those who had already declined acting as the traveller’s 
guide ; but perceiving him in great perplexity, and paying 
the respect due to his profession, “You are a clergyman, sir ?” 
he said. Mr. Walker assented. “ And I observe from your 
speech that you are from the north “ You are right, my 


INTRODUCTION TO OLD MORTALITY 


xi 


good friend ,” was the reply. “ And may I ask if you have 
ever heard of a place called Dunnottar ? ” “I ought to know 
something about it, my friend,” said Mr. Walker, “ since I 
have been several years the minister of the parish.” u Iam 
glad to hear it,” said the Dumfriesian, “ for one of my near rela- 
tions lies buried there, and there is, I believe, a monument 
over his grave. I would give half of what I am aught to 
know if it is still in existence.” “ He was one of those who 
perished in the Whigs* Vault at the castle?” said the min- 
ister ; “ for there are few southlanders besides lying in our 
churchyard, and none, I think, having monuments.” “ Even 
sae — even sae,” said the old Cameronian, for such was the far- 
mer. He then laid down his spade, cast on his coat, and heart- 
ily offered to see the minister out of the moss, if he should lose 
the rest of the day's dargue. Mr. Walker was able to requite 
him amply, in his opinion, by reciting the epitaph, which he 
remembered by heart. The old man was enchanted with find- 
ing the memory of his grandfather or great-grandfather faith- 
fully recorded among the names of brother sufferers ; and 
rejecting all other offers of recompense, only requested, after 
he had guided Mr. Walker to a safe and dry road, that he 
would let him have a written copy of the inscription. 

It was while I was listening to this story, and looking at 
the monument referred to, that I saw Old Mortality engaged 
in his daily task of cleaning and repairing the ornaments and 
epitaphs upon the tomb. His appearance and equipment 
were exactly as described in the Novel. I was very desirous 
to see something of a person so singular, and expected to have 
done so, as he took up his quarters with the hospitable and 
liberal -spirited minister. But though Mr. Walker invited 
him up after dinner to partake of a glass of spirits and water, 
to which he was supposed not to be very averse, yet he would 
not speak frankly upon the subject of his occupation. He 
was in bad humor, and had, according to his phrase, no free- 
dom for conversation with us. 

His spirit had been sorely vexed by hearing, in a certain 
Aberdonian kirk, the psalmody directed by a pitch-pipe, or 
some similar instrument, which was to Old Mortality the 
abomination of abominations. Perhaps, after all, he did not 
feel himself at ease with his company ; he might suspect the 
questions asked by a north-country minister and a young 
barrister to savor more of idle curiosity than profit. At any 
rate, in the phrase of John Bunyan, Old Mortality went on 
his way, and I saw him no more. 

The remarkable figure and occupation of this ancient pil- 


xii 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


grim was recalled to my memory by an account transmitted 
by my friend, Mr. Joseph Train, supervisor of excise at Dum- 
fries, to whom I owe many obligations of a similar nature. 
From this, besides some other circumstances, among which 
are those of the old man’s death, I learned the particulars 
described in the text. I am also informed that the old palm- 
er’s family, in the third generation, survives, and is highly 
respected both for talents and worth. 

While these sheets were passing through the press, I re- 
ceived the following communication from Mr. Train, whose 
undeviating kindness had, during the intervals of laborious 
duty, collected its materials from an indubitable source : 

“ In the course of my periodical visits to the Glenkens, I 
have become intimately acquainted with Robert Paterson, a 
son of Old Mortality, who lives in the little village of Balma- 
clellan ; and although he is now in the seventieth year of 
his age, preserves all the vivacity of youth — has a most reten- 
tive memory, and a mind stored with information far above 
what could be expected from a person in his station of life. 
To him I am indebted for the following particulars relative 
to his father and his descendants down to the present time. 

“Robert Paterson, alias Old Mortality, was the son of 
Walter Paterson and Margaret Scott, who occupied the farm 
of Haggisha, in the parish of Hawick, during nearly the first 
half of the 18th century. Here Robert was born, in the 
memorable year 1715. 

“ Being the youngest son of a numerous family, he, at an 
early age, went to serve with an elder brother, named Francis, 
who rented, from Sir John Jardine of Applegarth, a small 
tract in Corncockle Moor, near Lochmaben. During his res- 
idence there he became acquainted with Elizabeth Gray, 
daughter of Robert Gray, gardener to Sir John Jardine, 
whom he afterwards married. His wife had been for a con- 
siderable time a cook-maid to Sir Thomas Kirkpatrick of 
Closeburn, who procured for her husband, from the Duke of 
Queensberry, an advantageous lease of the freestone quarry of 
Gatelowbrigg, in the parish of Morton. Here he built a 
house, and had as much land as kept a horse and cow. Mv 
informant cannot say with certainty the year in which his 
father took up his residence at Gatelowbrigg, but he is sura 
it must have been only a short time prior to the year 1746, as, 
during the memorable frost in 1740, he says his mother still 
resided in the service of Sir Thomas Kirkpatrick. When the 
Highlanders were returning from England on their route t& 
Glasgow, in the year 1745-46, they plundered Mr. Paterson’s 


INTRODUCTION TO OLD MORTALITY 


xiii 

house at Gatelowbrigg, and carried him a prisoner as far as 
Glenbuck, merely because he said to one of the straggling 
army that their retreat might have been easily foreseen, as the 
strong arm of the Lord was evidently raised, not only against 
the bloody and wicked house of Stewart, but against all who 
attempted to support the abominable heresies of the Church 
of Rome. From this circumstance it appears that Old Mor- 
tality had, even at that early period of his life, imbibed the 
religious enthusiasm by which he afterwards became so much 
distinguished. 

“ The religious sect called Hill-men, or Cameronians, w r as 
at that time much noted for austerity and devotion, in imi- 
tation of Cameron, their founder, of whose tenets Old Mor- 
tality became a most strenuous supporter. He made frequent 
journeys into Galloway to attend their conventicles, and 
occasionally carried with him gravestones from his quarry at 
Gatelowbrigg, to keep in remembrance the righteous whose 
dust had been gathered to their fathers. Old Mortality was 
not one of those religious devotees who, although one eye is 
seemingly turned towards heaven, keep the other steadfastly 
fixed on some sublunary object. As his enthusiasm increased, 
his journeys into Galloway became more frequent ; and he 
gradually neglected even the common prudential duty of pro- 
viding for his offspring. From about the year 1758, he neg- 
lected wholly to return from Galloway to his wife and five 
children at Gatelowbrigg, which induced her to send her 
eldest son Walter, then only twelve years of age, to Galloway 
in search of his father. After traversing nearly the whole of 
that extensive district, from the Nick of Benncorie to the 
Fell of Barhullion, he found him at last working on the 
Cameronian monuments, in the old kirkyard of Kirkchrist, 
on the west side of the Dee, opposite the town of Kirkcud- 
bright. The little wanderer used all the influence in his 
power to induce his father to return to his family ; but in 
vain. Mrs. Paterson sent even some of her female children 
into Galloway in search of their father, for the same purpose 
of persuading him to return home ; but without any success. 
At last, in the summer of 1768, she removed to the little up- 
land village of Balmaclellan, in the Glenkens of ^ Galloway, 
where, upon the small pittance derived from keeping a little 
school, she supported her numerous family in a respectable 
manner. 

“ There is a small monumental stone in the farm of the 
Caldon, near the House of the Hill, in Wigtonshire, which is 
highly venerated as being the first erected, by Old Mortality, 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


%ri 

existence in striving witli his chisel and mallet to perpetuate 
the memory of many less deserving than himself, must remain 
even without a single stone to mark out the resting-place of 
his mortal remains. 

“ Old Mortality had three sons, Robert, Walter, and John ; 
the former, as has been already mentioned, lives in the village 
of Balmaclellan, in comfortable circumstances, and is much 
respected by his neighbors. Walter died several years ago, 
leaving behind him a family now respectably situated in this 
point. John went to America in the year 1776, and, after 
various turns of fortune, settled at Baltimore.” 

Old Nol himself is said to have loved an innocent jest 
(see Captain Hodgson’s Memoirs ). Old Mortality somewhat 
resembled the Protector in this turn to festivity. Like Master 
Silence, he had been merry twice and thrice in his time ; but 
even his jests were of a melancholy and sepulchral nature, and 
sometimes attended with inconvenience to himself, as will 
appear from the following anecdote : 

The old man was at one time following his wonted occupa- 
tion of repairing the tombs of the martyrs, in the churchyard 
of Girthon, and the sexton of the parish was plying his kin- 
dred task at no small distance. Some roguish urchins were 
sporting near them, and by their noisy gambols disturbing the 
old men in their serious occupation. The most petulant of 
the juvenile party were two or three boys, grandchildren of a 
person well known by the name of Cooper Climent. This artist 
enjoyed almost a monopoly in Girthon and the neighboring 
parishes for making and selling ladles, caups, bickers, bowls, 
spoons, cogues, and trenchers, formed of wood, for the use of 
the country people. It must be noticed that, notwithstand- 
ing the excellence of the cooper’s vessels, they were apt, when 
new, to impart a reddish tinge to whatever liquor was put into 
them, a circumstance not uncommon in like cases. 

The grandchildren of this dealer in wooden work took it 
into their head to ask the sexton what use he could possibly 
make of the numerous fragments of old coffins which were 
thrown up in opening new graves. “ Do you not know,” 
said Old Mortality, “ that he sells them to your grandfather, 
who makes them into spoons, trenchers, bickers, bowies, and 
so forth ?” At this assertion, the youthful group broke up 
in great confusion and disgust, on reflecting how many meals 
they had eaten out of dishes which, by Old Mortality’s ac- 
count, were only fit to be used at a banquet of witches or of 
ghouls. They carried the tidings home, when many a dinner 
was spoiled by the loathing which the intelligence imparted; 


INTRODUCTION TO OLD MORTALITY 


xvii 


for the account of the materials was supposed to explain the 
reddish tinge which, even in the days of the cooper’s fame, 
had seemed somewhat suspicious. The ware of Cooper 
Climent was rejected in horror, much to the benefit of his 
rivals the muggers, who dealt in earthenware. The man of 
cutty-spoon and ladle saw his trade interrupted, and learned 
the reason, by his quondam customers coming upon him in 
wrath to return the goods which were composed of such unhal- 
lowed materials, and demand repayment of their money. In 
this disagreeable predicament, the forlorn artist cited Old Mor- 
tality into a court of justice, where he proved that the wood he 
used in his trade was that of the staves of old wine-pipes bought 
from smugglers, with whom the country then abounded, a 
circumstance which fully accounted for their imparting a 
color to their contents. Old Mortality himself made the ful- 
lest declaration that he had no other purpose in making the 
assertion than to check the petulance of the children. But 
it is easier to take away a good name than to restore it. 
Cooper Climent’s business continued to languish, and he died 
in a state of poverty. 


i ' 

' 

♦ 



OLD MORTALITY 


CHAPTER I 

PRELIMINARY 

Why seeks he with unwearied toil 
Through death’s dim walks to urge his way, 

Reclaim his long-asserted spoil, 

And lead oblivion into day ? 

Langhorne. 

f ‘ Most readers,” says the Manuscript of Mr. Pattieson, “ must 
have witnessed with delight the joyous burst which attends 
the dismissing of a village school on a fine summer evening. 
The buoyant spirit of childhood, repressed with so much dif- 
ficulty during the tedious hours of discipline, may then be 
seen to explode, as it were, in shout, and song, and frolic, as 
the little urchins join in groups on their playground, and ar- 
range their matches of sport for the evening. But there is 
one individual who partakes of the relief afforded by the mo- 
ment of dismission, whose feelings are not so obvious to the 
eye of the spectator, or so apt to receive his sympathy. I 
mean the teacher himself, who, stunned with the hum, and 
suffocated with the closeness of his schoolroom, has spent the 
whole day (himself against a host) in controlling petulance, 
exciting indifference to action, striving to enlighten stupidity, 
and laboring to soften obstinacy ; and whose very powers of 
intellect have been confounded by hearing the same dull les- 
son repeated a hundred times by rote, and only varied by the 
various blunders of the reciters. Even the flowers of classic 
genius, with which his solitary fancy is most gratified, have 
been rendered degraded in his imagination by their connection 
with tears, with errors, and with punishment; so that the 
Eclogues of Virgil and Odes of Horace are each inseparably 
allied in association with the sullen figure and monotonous 
recitation of some blubbering schoolboy. If to these mental 

i 


2 


WAVE RLE Y NOVELS 


distresses are added a delicate frame of body, and a mind am- 
bitious of some higher distinction than that of being the ty- 
rant of childhood, the reader may have some slight conception 
of the relief which a solitary walk in the cool of a fine summer 
evening affords to the head which has ached, and the nerves 
which have been shattered, for so many hours in plying the 
irksome task of public instruction. 

“ To me these evening strolls have been the happiest hours 
of an unhappy life ; and if any gentle reader shall hereafter 
find pleasure in perusing these lucubrations, I am not unwilling 
he should know that the plan of them has been usually traced 
in those moments when relief from toil and clamor, combined 
with the quiet scenery around me, has disposed my mind to 
the task of composition. 

“My chief haunt, in these hours of golden leisure, is the 
banks of the small stream which, winding through a f lone vale 
of green bracken/ passes in front of the village school-house 
of Gandercleugh. For the first quarter of a mile, perhaps, I 
may be disturbed from my meditations in order to return the 
scrape or doffed bonnet of such stragglers among my pupils 
as fish for trouts or minnows in the little brook, or seek rushes 
and wild flowers by its margin. But beyond the space I have 
mentioned the juvenile anglers do not after sunset voluntarily 
extend their excursions. The cause is, that further up the 
narrow valley, and in a recess which seems scooped out of the 
side of the steep heathy bank, there is a deserted burial-ground, 
which the little cowards are fearful of approaching in the 
twilight. To me, however, the place has an inexpressible 
charm. It has been long the favorite termination of my walks, 
and, if my kind patron forgets not his promise, will (and prob- 
ably at no very distant day) be my final resting-place after my 
mortal pilgrimage.* 

“ It is a spot which possesses all the solemnity of feeling 
attached to a burial-ground, without exciting those of a more 
unpleasing description. Having been very little used for many 
years, the few hillocks which rise above the level plain are 
covered with the same short velvet turf. The monuments, of 
which there are not above seven or eight, are half sunk in the 
ground and overgrown with moss. No newly erected tomb 
disturbs the sober serenity of our reflections by reminding us 
of recent calamity, and no rank-springing grass forces upon 
our imagination the recollection, that it owes its dark luxuri- 
ance to the foul and festering remnants of mortality which 
ferment beneath. The daisy which sprinkles the sod, and 
* See tfewr FatUeson’s Grave. Note 1. 


OLD MORTALITY 


the harebell which hangs over it, derive their pure nourishment 
from the dew of heaven, and their growth impresses us with 
no degrading or disgusting recollections. Death has indeed 
been here, and its traces are before us ; but they are softened 
and deprived of their horror by our distance from the period 
when they have been first impressed. Those who sleep beneath 
are only connected with us by the reflection, that they have 
once been what we now are, and that, as their relics are now 
identified with their mother earth, ours shall at some future 
period undergo the same transformation. 

“ Yet, although the moss has been collected on the most 
modern of these humble tombs during four generations of 
mankind, the memory of some of those who sleep beneath 
them is still held in reverent remembrance. It is true that, 
upon the largest, and, to an antiquary, the most interesting 
monument of the group, which bears the effigies of a doughty 
knight in his hood of mail, with his shield hanging on his 
breast, the armorial bearings are defaced by time, and a few 
worn-out letters may be read at the pleasure of the decipherer, 
Dns. Johan de Hamel, or Johan de Lamel. And it is also 
true that of another tomb, richly sculptured with an orna- 
mental cross, mitre, and pastoral staff, tradition can only aver 
that a certain nameless bishop lies interred there. But upon 
other two stones which lie beside may still be read in rude 
prose and ruder rhyme the history of those who sleep beneath 
them. They belong, we are assured by the epitaph, to the 
class of persecuted Presbyterians who afforded a melancholy 
subject for history in the times of Charles II. and his successor. * 
In returning from the battle of Pentland Hills, a party of the 
insurgents had been attacked in this glen by a small detach- 
ment of the king's troops, and three or four either killed in 
the skirmish, or shot after being made prisoners, as rebels 
taken with arms in their hands. The peasantry continued to 
attach to the tombs of those victims of prelacy an honor which 
they do not render to more splendid mausoleums ; and, when 
they point them out to their sons, and narrate the fate of the 
sufferers, usually conclude by exhorting them to be ready, 
should times call for it, to resist to the death in the cause of 
civil and religious liberty, like their brave forefathers. 

“ Although I am far from venerating the peculiar tenets 
asserted by those who call themselves the followers of those 
men, and whose intolerance and narrow-minded bigotry are 
at least as conspicuous as their devotional zeal, yet it is with- 

* James, Seventh King of Scotland of that name, and Second according to the 
numeration of the Kings of England.— J . C. 


4 


waverley novels 


out depreciating the memory of those sufferers, many of whom 
united the independent sentiments of a Hampden with the 
suffering zeal of a Hooper or Latimer. On the other hand, 
it would be unjust to forget that many even of those who had 
been most active in crushing what they conceived the re- 
bellious and seditious spirit of those unhappy wanderers, dis- 
played themselves, when called upon to suffer for their politi- 
cal and religious opinions, the same daring and devoted zeal, 
tinctured, in their case, with chivalrous loyalty, as in the for- 
mer with republican enthusiasm. It has often been remarked 
of the Scottish character, that the stubbornness with which 
it is moulded shows most to advantage in adversity, when it 
seems akin to the native sycamore of their hills, which scorns 
to be biassed in its mode of growth even by the influence of 
the prevailing wind, but, shooting its branches with equal 
boldness in every direction, shows no weather-side to the 
storm, and may be broken, but can never be bended. It must 
be understood that I speak of my countrymen as they fall 
under my own observation. When in foreign countries, I 
have been informed that they are more docile. But it is 
time to return from this digression. 

“ One summer evening as, in a stroll such as I have de- 
scribed, I approached this deserted mansion of the dead, I was 
somewhat surprised to hear sounds distinct from those which 
usually soothe its solitude, the gentle chiding, namely, of the 
brook, and the sighing of the wind in the boughs of three gi- 
gantic ash-trees, which mark the cemetery. The clink of a ham'- 
mer was on this occasion distinctly heard ; and I entertained 
some alarm that a march dike, long meditated by the two pro- 
prietors whose estates were divided by my favorite brook, was 
about to be drawn up the glen, in order to substitute its 
rectilinear deformity for the graceful winding of the natural 
> boundary. * As I approached I was agreeably undeceived. 
An old man was seated upon the monument of the slaugh- 
tered Presbyterians, and busily employed in deepening with 
his chisel the letters of the inscription which, announcing in 
Scriptural language the promised blessings of futurity to be 
the lot of the slain, anathematized the murderers with corre- 
sponding violence. A blue bonnet of unusual dimensions 
covered the gray hairs of the pious workman. His dress was 
a large old-fashioned coat of the coarse cloth called f hodden- 
gray/ usually worn by the elder peasants, with waistcoat and 
breeches of the same ; and the whole suit, though still in 
decent repair, had obviously seen a train of long service. 

* See A March-Dike Boundary. Note 2 . 


OLD MORTALITY 


5 


Strong clouted shoes, studded with hob-nails and ‘ g^uiashes* 
or ‘ leggins/ made of thick black cloth, completed his 
equipment. Beside him, fed among the graves a pony, the 
companion of his journey, whose extreme whiteness, as well 
as its projecting bones and hollow eyes, indicated its antiq- 
uity. was harnessed in the most simple manner, with a 
pair of branks, a hair tether, or halter, and a "sunk/ or 
cushion of straw, instead of bridle and saddle. A canvas 
pouch hung around the neck of the animal, for the purpose, 
probably, of containing the rider's tools, and anything else he 
might have occasion to carry with him. Although I had 
never seen the old man before, yet from the singularity of his 
employment and the style of his equipage, I had no difficulty 
in recognizing a religious itinerant whom I had often heard 
talked of, and who was known in various parts of Scotland by 
the title of Old Mortality. 

“ Where this man was born, or what was his real name, 
I have never been able to learn ; nor are the motives which 
made him desert his home and adopt the erratic mode of life 
which he pursued known to me except very generally. Ac- 
cording to the belief of most people, he was a native of either 
the county of Dumfries or Galloway, and lineally descended 
from some of those champions of the Covenant whose deeds 
and sufferings were his favorite theme. He is said to have 
held, at one period of his life, a small moorland farm ; but, 
whether from pecuniary losses or domestic misfortune, he had 
long renounced that and every other gainful calling. In the 
language of Scripture, he left his house, his home, and his 
kindred, and wandered about until the day of his death, a 
period of nearly thirty years. 

“ During this long pilgrimage, the pious enthusiast regu- 
lated his circuit so as annually to visit the graves of the un- 
fortunate Covenanters who suffered by the sword, or by the 
executioner, during the reigns of the two last monarehs of 
the Stewart line. These are most numerous in the western 
districts of Ayr, Galloway, and Dumfries ; but they are also 
to be found in other parts of Scotland, wherever the fugitives 
had fought, or fallen, or suffered by military or civil execu- 
tion. Their tombs are often apart from all human habitation, 
in the remote moors and wilds to which the wanderers had 
fled for concealment. But wherever they existed, Old Mor- 
tality was sure to visit them when his annual round brought 
them within his reach. In the most lonely recesses of the 
mountains the moor-fowl shooter has been often surprised tc 
find him busied in cleaning the moss from the gray stones. 


6 


WAVERLEV NOVELS 


renewing with his chisel the half-defaced inscriptions, and 
repairing the emblems of death with which these simple 
monuments are usually adorned. Motives of the most sincere, 
though fanciful, devotion induced the old man to dedicate so 
many years of existence to perform this tribute to the memory 
of the deceased warriors of the church. He considered him- 
self as fulfilling a sacred duty, while renewing to the eyes of 
posterity the decaying emblems of the zeal and sufferings of 
their forefathers, and thereby trimming, as it were, the beacon- 
light which was to warn future generations to defend their 
religion even unto blood. 

“ In all his wanderings the old pilgrim never seemed to 
need, or was known to accept, pecuniary assistance. It is true, 
his wants were very few ; for wherever he went, he found 
ready quarters in the house of some Cameronian of his own 
sect, or of some other religious person. The hospitality which 
was reverentially paid to him he always acknowledged by re- 
pairing the grave-stones (if there existed any) belonging to 
the family or ancestors of his host. As the wanderer was 
usually to be seen bent on this pious task within the precincts 
of some country churchyard, or reclined on the solitary tomb- 
stone among the heath, disturbing the plover and the black- 
cock with the clink of his chisel and mallet, with his old white 
pony grazing by his side, he acquired, from his converse among 
the dead, the popular appellation of Old Mortality. 

“ The character of such a man could have in it little con- 
nection even with innocent gayety. Yet among those of his 
own religious persuasion, he is reported to have been cheer- 
ful. The descendants of persecutors, or those whom he sup- 
posed guilty of entertaining similar tenets, and the scoffers 
at religion by whom he was sometimes assailed, he usually 
termed the generation of vipers. Conversing with others, he 
was grave and sententious, not without a cast of severity. 
But lie is said never to have been observed to give way to vio- 
lent passion, excepting upon one occasion, when a mischievous 
truant-boy defaced with a stone the nose of a cherub's face 
which the old man was engaged in retouching. I am in gen- 
eral a sparer of the rod, notwithstanding the maxim of Solo- 
mon, for which schoolboys have little reason to thank his 
memory ; but on this occasion I deemed it proper to show that 
I did not hate the child. But I must return to the circum- 
stances attending my first interview with this interesting en- 
thusiast. 

“In accosting Old Mortality, I did not fail to pay respect 
to his years and his principles, beginning my address by a 


OLD MORTALITY 


* 

respectful apology for interrupting his labors. The old man 
intermitted the operation of the chisel, took oft his spectacles 
and wiped them, then, replacing them on his nose, acknowl- 
edged my courtesy by a suitable return. Encouraged by his 
affability, I in truded upon him some questions concerning the 
sufferers on whose monument he was now employed. To talk 
of the exploits of the Covenanters was the delight, as to re- 
pair their monuments was the business, of his life. He was 
profuse in the communication of all the minute information 
which he had collected concerning them, their wars, and their 
wanderings. One would almost have supposed he must have 
been their contemporary, and have actually beheld the pas- 
sages which he related, so much had he identified his feelings 
and opinions with theirs, and so much had his narratives the 
circumstantiality of an eye-witness. 

“‘We,’ he said, in a tone of exultation — ‘we are the 
only true Whigs. Carnal men have assumed that triumphant 
appellation, following him whose kingdom is of this world. 
Which of them would sit six hours on a wet hillside to hear a 
godly sermon ? I trow an hour oT wad staw them. They are 
ne^er a hair better than them that shamena to take upon them- 
sells the persecuting name of bluid thirsty Tories. Self-seek- 
ers all of them, strivers after wealth, power, and worldly am- 
bition, and forgetters alike of what has been dreeM and done 
by the mighty men who stood in the gap in the great day of 
wrath. Nae wonder they dread the accomplishment of what 
was spoken by the mouth of the worthy Mr. Peden — that 
precious servant of the Lord, none of whose words fell to the 
ground — that the French monzies sail rise as fast in the glens 
of Ayr and the Kens of Galloway as ever the Highlandmen did 
in 1677. And now they are gripping to the bow and to the 
spear, when they suld be mourning for a sinfu* land and a 
broken Covenant/ 

“ Soothing the old man by letting his peculiar opinions 
pass without contradiction, and anxious to prolong conversa- 
tion with so singular a character, I prevailed upon him to 
accept that hospitality which Mr. Cleishbotham is always 
willing to extend to those who need it. In our way to the 
schoolmaster’s house we called at the Wallace Inn, where I 
was pretty certain I should find my patron about that hour of 
the evening. Aftqr a courteous interchange of civilities. Old 
Mortality was, with difficulty, prevailed upon to join his host 
in a single glass of liquor, and that on condition that he should 
be permitted to name the pledge, which he prefaced with a 
grace of about five minutes, and then, with bonnet doffed and 


8 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


eyes uplifted, drank to the memory of those heroes of the 
Kirk who had first uplifted her banner upon the mountains. 
As no persuasion could prevail on him to extend his convivi- 
ality to a second cup, my patron accompanied him home, and 
accommodated him in the ‘ prophet’s chamber/ * as it is his 
pleasure to call the closet which holds a spare bed, and which 
is frequently a place of retreat for the poor traveller. 

“ The next day I took leave of Old Mortality, who seemed 
affected by the unusual attention with which I had cultivated 
his acquaintance and listened to his conversation. After he 
had mounted, not without difficulty, the old white pony, he 
took me by the hand, and said, ‘ The blessing of our Master bo 
with you, young man ! My hours are like the ears of the 
latter harvest, and your days are yet in the spring ; and yet 
you may be gathered into the garner of mortality before me, 
for the sickle of death cuts down the green as oft as the ripe, 
and there is a color in your cheek that, like the bud of the 
rose, serveth oft to hide the worm ofcorruption. Wherefore 
labor as one who knoweth not when his Master calleth. And 
if it be my lot to return to this village after ye are gane hame 
to your ain place, these auld withered hands will frame a stane 
of memorial, that your name may not perish from among the 
people.’ 

“ I thanked Old Mortality for his kind intentions in my 
behalf, and heaved a sigh, not, I think, of regret so much as of 
resignation, to think of the chance that I might soon require 
his goad offices. But though, in all human probability, he did 
not err in supposing that my span of life may be abridged in 
youth, he had overestimated the period of his own pilgrimage 
on earth. It is now some years since he has been missed in all 
his usual haunts, while moss, lichen, and deer-hair are fast 
covering those stones to cleanse which had been the business 
of his life. About the beginning of this century he closed his 
mortal toils, being found on the highway near Lockerbie, in 
Dumfriesshire, exhausted and just expiring. The old white 
pony, the companion of all his wanderings, was standing by the 
side of his dying master. There was found about his person a 
sum of money sufficient for his decent interment, which serves 
to show that his death was iti no ways hastened by violence or 
by want. The common people still regard his memory with 
great respect ; and many are of opinion that the stones which 
he repaired will not again require the assistance of the chisel. 
They even assert that on the tombs where the manner of the 
martyrs’ murder is recorded, their names have remained in- 


*See Note 3. 


OLD MORTALITY 


delibly legible since the death of Old Mortality, while those 
of the persecutors, sculptured on the same monuments, have 
been entirely defaced. It is hardly necessary to say that this 
is a fond imagination, and that, since the time of the pious 
pilgrim, the monuments which were the objects of his care are 
hastening, like all earthly memorials, into ruin or decay. 

“ My readers will of course understand that in embodying 
into one compressed narrative many of the anecdotes which I 
had the advantage of deriving from Old Mortality, I have 
been far from adopting either his style, his opinions, or even 
his facts, so far as they appear to have been distorted by party 
prejudice. I have endeavored to correct or verify them from 
the most authentic sources of tradition, afforded by the rep- 
resentatives of either party. 

“ On the part of the Presbyterians, I have consulted such 
moorland farmers from the western districts as, by the kind- 
ness of their landlords, or otherwise, have been able, during 
the late general change of property, to retain possession of 
the grazings on which their grandsires fed their flocks and 
herds. I must own, that of late days, I have found this a 
limited source of information. I have, therefore, called in 
the supplementary aid of those modest itinerants whom the 
scrupulous civility of our ancestors denominated travelling 
merchants, but whom, of late, accommodating ourselves in 
this as in more material particulars to the feelings and sen- 
timents of our more wealthy neighbors, we have learned to 
call packmen or peddlers. To country weavers travelling in 
hopes to get rid of their winter web, but more especially to 
tailors, who, from their sedentary profession, and the neces- 
sity in our country of exercising it by temporary residence in 
the families by whom they are employed, may be considered 
as possessing a complete register of rural traditions, I have 
been indebted for many illustrations of the narratives of Old 
Mortality, much in the taste and spirit of the original. 

“ I had more difficulty in finding materials for correcting 
the tone of partiality which evidently pervaded those stores 
of traditional learning, in order that I might be enabled to 
present an unbiassed picture of the manners of that unhappy 
period, and at the same time to do justice to the merits of 
both parties. But I have been enabled to qualify the narra- 
tives of Old Mortality and his Cameronian friends by the re- 
ports of more than one descendant of ancient and honorable 
families, who, themselves decayed into the humble vale of 
life, yet look proudly back on the period when their ancestors 
fought and fell in behalf of the exiled house of Stewart. I 


10 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


may even boast right reverend authority on the same score ; 
for more than one nonjuring bishop, whose authority and in- 
come were upon as apostolical a scale as the greatest abomina- 
tor of Episcopacy could well desire, have deigned, while par- 
taking of the humble cheer of the Wallace Inn, to furnish me 
with information corrective of the facts which I learned from 
others. There are also here and there a laird or two who, 
though they shrug their shoulders, profess no great shame in 
their fathers having served in the persecuting squadrons of 
Earlshall and Claverhouse. From the gamekeepers of these 
gentlemen, an office the most apt of any other to become 
hereditary in such families, I have also contrived to collect 
much valuable information. 

“ Upon the whole, I can hardly fear that at this time, in 
describing the operation which their opposite principles pro- 
duced upon the good and bad men of both parties, I can be 
suspected of meaning insult or injustice to either. If recol- 
lection of former injuries, extra-loyalty, and contempt and 
hatred of their adversaries, produced rigor and tyranny in 
the one party, it will hardly be denied, on the other hand, 
that, if the zeal for G-od’s house did not eat up the Conventi- 
clers, it devoured at least, to imitate the phrase of Dryden, 
no small portion of their loyalty, sober sense, and good breed- 
ing. We may safely hope that the souls of the brave and 
sincere on either side have long looked down with surprise and 
pity upon the ill-appreciated motives which caused their 
mutual hatred and hostility while in this valley of darkness, 
blood, and tears. Peace to their memory ! Let us think of 
them as the heroine of our only Scottish tragedy entreats her 
lord to think of her departed sire : 

“ O rake not up the ashes of our fathers ! 

Implacable resentment was their crime, 

And grievous has the expiation been.” 


CHAPTER II 


Summon an hundred horse by break of day, 

To wait our pleasure at the castle gates. 

Douglas. 

Ukder the reign of the last Stewarts there was an anxious 
wish on the part of government to counteract, by every 
means in their power, the strict or puritanical spirit which 
had been the chief characteristic of the republican govern- 
ment, and to revive those feudal institutions which united the 
vassal to the liege lord, and both to the crown. Frequent 
musters and assemblies of the people, both for military 
exercise and for sports and pastimes, were appointed by au- 
thority. The interference in the latter case was impolitic, 
to say the least ; for, as usual on such occasions, the con- 
sciences which were at first only scrupulous became con- 
firmed in their opinions, instead of giving way to the terrors 
of authority ; and the youth of both sexes, to whom the pipe 
and tabor in England, or the bagpipe in Scotland, would 
have been in themselves an irresistible temptation, were en- 
abled to set them at defiance from the proud consciousness 
that they were at the same time resisting an act of council. 
To compel men to dance and be merry by authority has rarely 
succeeded even on board of slave-ships, where it was formerly 
sometimes attempted by way of inducing the wretched cap- 
tives to agitate their limbs and restore the circulation during 
the few minutes they were permitted to enjoy the fresh air 
upon deck. The rigor of the strict Calvinists increased in 
proportion to the wishes of the government that it should be 
relaxed ; a Judaical observance of the Sabbath, a supercilious 
condemnation of all manly pastimes and harmless recreations, 
as well as of the profane custom of promiscuous dancing — 
that is, of men and women dancing together in the same 
party, for I believe they admitted that the exercise might be 
inoffensive if practised by the parties separately — distinguish- 
ing those who professed a more* than ordinary share of sanctity. 
They discouraged, as far as lay in their power, even the 
ancient “ wappenschaws,” as they were termed; when the 

U 


12 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


feudal array of the county was called out, and each crown- 
vassal was required to appear with such muster of men and 
armor as he was bound to make by his fief, and that under 
high statutory penalties. The Covenanters were the more 
jealous of those assemblies, as the lord-lieutenants and 
sheriffs under whom they were held had instructions from the 
government to spare no pains which might render them 
agreeable to the young men who were thus summoned to- 
gether, upon whom the military exercise of the morning, and 
the sports which usually closed the evening, might naturally 
be supposed to have a seductive effect. 

The preachers and proselytes of the more rigid Presby- 
terians labored, therefore, by caution, remonstrance, and 
authority, to diminish the attendance upon these summonses, 
conscious that in doing so they lessened not only the apparent, 
but the actual, strength of the government, by impeding the 
extension of that esprit de corps which soon unites young men 
who are in the habit of meeting together for manly sport, or 
military exercise. They, therefore, exerted themselves earn- 
estly to prevent attendance on these occasions by those who 
could find any possible excuse for absence, and were especially 
severe upon such of their hearers as mere curiosity led to be 
spectators, or love of exercise to be partakers, of the array and 
the sports which took place. Such of the gentry as acceded 
to these doctrines were not always, however,, in a situation to 
be ruled by them. The commands of the law were imperative ; 
and the privy council, who administered the executive power 
in Scotland, were severe in enforcing the statutory penalties 
against the crown-vassals who did not appear at the periodical 
wappenschaw. The landholders were compelled, therefore, 
to send their sons, tenants, and vassals to the rendezvous, to 
the number of horses, men, and spears at which they were 
rated ; and it frequently happened that, notwithstanding the 
strict charge of their elders to return as soon as the formal in- 
spection was over, the young men-at-arms were unable to re- 
sist the temptation of sharing in the sports which succeeded 
the muster, or to avoid listening to the prayers read in the 
churches on these occasions, and thus, in the opinion of their 
repining parents, meddling with the accursed thing which is 
an abomination in the sight of the Lord. 

The sheriff of the county of Lanark was holding the wap- 
penschaw of a wild district, called the Upper Ward of Clydes- 
dale, on a liaugh or level plain near to a royal borough, the 
name of which is no way essential to my story, on the morn- 
ing of the 5th of May, 1679, when our narrative commences. 


OLD MORTALITY 


13 


When the musters had been made and duly reported, the 
young men, as was usual, were to mix in various sports, of 
which the chief was to shoot at the popinjay,* an ancient game 
formerly practised with archery, hut at this period with fire- 
arms. This was the figure of a bird decked with party-col- 
ored feathers, so as to resemble a popinjay or parrot. It was 
suspended to a pole, and served for a mark, at which the com- 
petitors discharged their fusees and carabines in rotation, 
at the distance of sixty or seventy paces. He whose ball 
brought down the mark held the proud title of Captain of the 
Popinjay for the remainder of the day, and was usually escort- 
ed in triumph to the most reputable change-house in the 
neighborhood, where the evening was closed with conviviality, 
conducted under his auspices, and, if he was able to sustain 
it, at his expense. 

It will, of course, be supposed that the ladies of the country 
assembled to witness this gallant strife, those excepted who 
held the stricter tenets of Puritanism, and would therefore 
have deemed it criminal to afford countenance to the profane 
gambols of the malignants. Landaus, barouches, or tilburies, 
there were none in those simple days. The lord-lieutenant of 
the county (a personage of ducal rank) alone pretended to the 
magnificence of a wheel-carriage, a thing covered with tarnished 
gilding and sculpture, in shape like the vulgar picture of Noah’s 
ark, dragged by eight long- tailed Flanders mares, bearing eight 
“ insides ” and six “ outsides.” The insides were their Graces 
in person, two maids of honor, two children, a chaplain stuffed 
into a sort of lateral recess, formed by a projection at the door 
of the vehicle, and called, from its appearance, the boot, and 
an equerry to his Grace ensconced in the corresponding con- 
venience on the opposite side. A coachman and three pos- 
tilions, who wore short swords and tie-wigs with three tails, 
had blunderbusses slung behind them, and pistols at their 
saddle-bow, conducted the equipage. On the foot-board, be- 
hind this moving mansion-house, stood, or rather hung, in 
triple file, six lackeys in rich liveries, armed up to the teeth. 
The rest of the gentry, men and women, old and young, were 
on horseback, followed by their servants ; but the company, for 
the reasons already assigned, was rather select than numerous. 

Near to the enormous leathern vehicle which we have at- 
tempted to describe, vindicating her title to precedence over 
the untitled gentry of the country, might be seen the sober pal- 
frey of Ladv Margaret Bellenden, bearing the erect and prim- 
itive form of Lady Margaret herself, decked in those widow's 

* gee Not^ 4. 


14 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


weeds which the good lady had never laid aside since the exe- 
cution of her husband for his adherence to Montrose. 

Her granddaughter, and only earthly care, the fair-haired 
Edith, who was generally allowed to be the prettiest lass in the 
Upper Ward, appeared beside her aged relative like Spring 
placed close to Winter. Her black Spanish jennet, which she 
managed with much grace, her gay riding-dress, and laced side- 
saddle, had been anxiously prepared to set her forth to the 
best advantage. But the clustering profusion of ringlets, 
which, escaping from under her cap, were only confined by a 
green ribbon from wantoning over her shoulders ; her cast of 
features, soft and feminine, yet not without a certain expres- 
sion of playful archness, which redeemed their sweetness from 
the charge of insipidity sometimes brought against blondes and 
blue-eyed beauties — these attracted more admiration from the 
western youth than either the splendor of her equipments or 
the figure of her palfrey. 

The attendance of these distinguished ladies was rather 
inferior to their birth and fashion in those times, as it con- 
sisted only of two servants on horseback. The truth was, 
that the good old lady had been obliged to make all her 
domestic servants turn out to complete the quota which hex* 
barony ought to furnish for the muster, and in which she 
would not for the universe have been found deficient. The 
old steward, who, in steel cap and jack-boots, led forth her 
array, had, as he said, sweated blood and water in his efforts 
to overcome the scruples and evasions of the moorland 
farmers, who ought to have furnished men, horse, and harness 
on these occasions. At last their dispute came near to an 
open declaration of hostilities, the incensed Episcopalian 
bestowing on the recusants the whole thunders of the com- 
mination, and receiving from them in return the denuncia- 
tions of a Calvinistic excommunication. What was to be 
done ? To punish the refractory tenants would have been 
easy enough. The privy council would readily have imposed 
fines, and sent a troop of horse to collect them. But this 
would have been calling the huntsman and hounds into the 
garden to kill the hare. 

“ For,” said Harrison to himself, “the carles have little 
eneugh gear at ony rate, and if I call in the redcoats and 
take away what little they have, how is my worshipful lady 
to get her rents paid at Candlemas, which is but a difficult 
matter to bring round even in the best of times ?” 

So he armed the fowler and falconer, the footman and 
the ploughman, at the home farm, with an old drunken 


OLD MORTALITY 


15 


Cavaliering butler, who had served with the late Sir Richard 
under Montrose, and stunned the family nightly with his 
exploits at Kilsyth and Tippermuir, and who was the only 
man in the party that had the smallest zeal for the work in 
hand. In this manner, and by recruiting one or two latitudi- 
narian poachers and black-fishers, Mr. Harrison completed 
the quota of men which fell to the share of Lady Margaret 
Bellenden, as life-rentrix of the barony of Tillietudlem and 
others. But when the steward, on the morning of the event- 
ful day, had mustered his troupe doree before the iron gate of 
the Tower, the mother of Cuddie Headrigg, the ploughman, 
appeared, loaded with the jack-boots, buff coat, and other ac- 
coutrements which had been issued forth for the service of 
the day, and laid them before the steward, demurely assuring 
him that, “ whether it were the colic, or a qualm of con- 
science, she couldna tak upon her to decide, but sure it was 
Cuddie had been in sair straits a 5 night, and she couldna say 
he was muckle better this morning. The finger of Heaven / 5 
she said, “ was in it, and her bairn should gang on nae sic 
errands." Pains, penalties, and threats of dismission were 
denounced in vain : the mother was obstinate, and Cuddie, 
who underwent a domiciliary visitation for the purpose of 
verifying his state of body, could, or would, answer only by 
deep groans. Mause, who had been an ancient domestic in 
the family, was a sort of favorite with Lady Margaret and 
presumed accordingly. Lady Margaret had herself set forth, 
and her authority could not be appealed to. In this dilemma, 
the good genius of the old butler suggested an expedient. 

“ He had seen mony a braw callant, far less than Guse 
Gibbie, fight brawlv under Montrose. What for no tak Guse 
Gibbie ?” 

This was a half-witted lad, of very small stature, who had a 
kind of charge of the poultry under the old henwife ; for in a 
Scottish family of that day there was a wonderful substitution 
of labor. This urchin, being sent for from the stubble-field, 
was hastily muffled in the buff coat, and girded rather to than 
with the sword of a full-grown man, his little legs plunged into 
jack-boots, and a steel cap put upon his head, which seemed, 
from its size, as if it had been intended to extinguish him. 
Thus accoutred he was hoisted, at his own earnest request, 
upon the quietest horse of the party; and prompted and 
supported by old Gudyill the butler as his front file he passed 
muster tolerably enough, the sheriff not caring to examine 
too closely the recruits of so well-affected a person as Lady 
Margaret Bellenden > 


16 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


To tlie above cause it was owing that the personal retinue 
of Lady Margaret, on this eventful day, amounted only to two 
lackeys, with which diminished train she would on any other 
occasion have been much ashamed to appear in public. But 
for the cause of royalty she was ready at any time to have 
made the most unreserved personal sacrifices. She had lost 
her husband and two promising sons in the civil wars of that 
unhappy period ; but she had received her reward, for, on his 
route through the west of Scotland to meet Cromwell in the 
unfortunate field of Worcester, Charles the Second had actually 
breakfasted at the Tower of Tillietudlem ; an incident which 
formed from that moment an important era in the life of 
Lady Margaret, who seldom afterwards partook of that meal, 
either at home or abroad, without detailing the whole circum- 
stances of the royal visit, not forgetting the salutation which 
his Majesty conferred on each side of her face, though she 
sometimes omitted to notice that he bestowed the same favor 
on two buxom serving- wenches who appeared at her back, 
elevated for the day into the capacity of waiting gentle- 
women. 

These instances of royal favor were decisive ; and if Lady 
Margaret had not been a confirmed Royalist already, from 
sense of high birth, influence of education, and hatred to the 
opposite party, through whom she had suffered such domestic 
calamity, the having given a breakfast to majesty, and received 
the royal salute in return, were honors enough of themselves to 
unite her exclusively to the fortunes of the Stewarts. These 
were now, in all appearance, triumphant ; but Lady Mar- 
garet’s zeal had adhered to them through the worst of times, and 
was ready to sustain the same severities of fortune should their 
scale once more kick the beam. At present she enjoyed, in 
full extent, the military display of the force which stood ready 
to support the crown, and stifled as well as she could the mor- 
tification she felt at the unworthy desertion of her own re- 
tainers. 

Many civilities passed between her ladyship and the rep- 
resentatives of sundry ancient loyal families who were upon 
the ground, by whom she was held in high reverence ; and not 
a young man of rank passed by them in the course of the 
muster but he carried his body more erect in the saddle, and 
threw his horse upon its haunches, to display his own horse- 
manship and the perfect bitting of his steed to the best advan- 
tage in the eyes of Miss Edith Bellenden. But the young 
Cavaliers, distinguished by high descent and undoubted loy- 
alty, attracted no more attention from Edith than the laws 


OLD MORTALITY 


17 


of courtesy peremptorily demanded ; and she turned an in- 
different ear to the compliments with which she was addressed, 
most of which were little the worse for the wear, though 
borrowed for the nonce from the laborious and long-winded 
romances of Calprenede and Scuderi, the mirrors in which 
the youth of that age delighted to dress themselves, ere Folly 
had thrown her ballast overboard, and cut down her vessels 
of the first-rate, such as the romances of Cyrus , Cleopatra , 
and others, into small craft, drawing as little water, or, to 
speak more plainly, consuming as little time, as the little 
cock-boat in which the gentle reader has deigned to embark. 
It was, however, the decree of fate that Miss Bellenden should 
not continue to evince the same equanimity till the conclusion 
of the day. 


CHAPTER III 


Horseman and horse confess’d the bitter pang, 

And arms and warrior fell with heavy clang. 

Pleasures of Hope. 

Wheit the military evolutions had been gone through tolem 
ably well, allowing for the awkwardness of men and of horses, 
a loud shout announced that the competitors were about to 
step forth for the game of the popinjay already described. The 
mast, or pole, having a yard extended across it, from which 
the mark was displayed, was raised amid the acclamations of 
the assembly ; and even those who had eyed the evolutions of 
the feudal militia with a sort of malignant and sarcastic sneer, 
from disinclination to the royal cause in which they were pro- 
fessedly embodied, could not refrain from taking considerable 
interest in the strife which was now approaching. They 
crowded towards the goal, and criticised the appearance of 
each competitor, as they advanced in succession, discharged 
their pieces at the mark, and had their good or bad address 
rewarded by the laughter or applause of the spectators. But 
when a slender young man, dressed with great simplicity, yet 
not without a certain air of pretension to elegance and gentil- 
ity, approached the station with his fusee in his hand, his 
dark green cloak thrown back over his shoulder, his laced ruff 
and feathered cap indicating a superior rank to the vulgar, 
there was a murmur of interest among the spectators, whether 
altogether favorable to the young adventurer it was difficult 
to discover. 

“Ewhow, sirs, to see his father's son at the like o' thae 
fearless follies ! " was the ejaculation of the elder and more 
rigid Puritans, whose curiosity had so far overcome their big- 
otry as to bring them to the playground. But the generality 
viewed the strife less morosely, and were contented to wish 
success to the son of a deceased Presbyterian leader, without 
strictly examining the propriety of his being a competitor for 
the prize. 

Their wishes were gratified. At the first discharge of his 
piece the green adventurer struck the popinjay, being the 


OLD MORTALITY 


19 

first palpable hit of the day, though several balls had passed 
very near the mark. A loud shout of applause ensued. But 
the success was not decisive, it being necessary that each who 
followed should have his chance, and that those who succeeded 
in hitting the mark should renew the strife among them- 
selves, till one displayed a decided superiority over the others. 
Two only of those who followed in order succeeded in hitting 
the popinjay. The first was a young man of low rank, 
heavily built, and who kept his face muffled in his gray 
cloak ; the second, a gallant young cavalier, remarkable for a 
handsome exterior, sedulously decorated for the day. He 
had been since the muster in close attendance on Lady Mar- 
garet and Miss Bellenden, and had left them with an air of 
indifference when Lady Margaret had asked whether there 
was no young man of family and loyal principles who would 
dispute the prize with the two lads who had been successful. 
In half a minute young Lord Evandale threw himself from 
his horse, borrowed a gun from a servant, and, as we have 
already noticed, hit the mark. Great was the interest excited 
by the renewal of the contest between the three candidates 
who had been hitherto successful. The state equipage of 
the Duke was, with some difficulty, put in motion, and ap- 
proached more near to the scene of action. The riders, both 
male and female, turned their horses* heads in the same di- 
rection, and all eyes were bent upon the issue of the trial of 
skill. 

It was the etiquette in the second contest, that the com- 
petitors should take their turn of firing after drawing lots. 
The first fell upon the young plebeian, who, as he took his 
stand, half uncloaked his rustic countenance, and said to the 
gallant in green, “ Ye see, Mr. Henry, if it were ony other 
day, I could hae wished to miss for your sake ; but Jenny 
Dennison is looking at us, sae I maun do my best.** 

He took his aim, and his bullet whistled past the mark so 
nearly that the pendulous object at which it was directed was 
seen to shiver. Still, however, he had not hit it, and, with 
a downcast look, he withdrew himself from further competi- 
tion, and hastened to disappear from the assembly, as if fear- 
ful of being recognized. The green chasseur next advanced, 
and his ball a second time struck the popinjay. All shouted; 
and from the outskirts of the assembly arose a cry of, “The 
good old cause forever ! ** 

While the dignitaries bent their brows at these exulting 
shouts of the disaffected, the young Lord Evandale advanced 
again to the hazard and again was successful. The shouts 


20 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


and congratulations of the well-affected and aristocratical 
part of the audience attended his success, but still a subse- 
quent trial of skill remained. 

The green marksman, as if determined to bring the affair 
to a decision, took his horse from a person who held him, 
haying previously looked carefully to the security of his girths 
and the fitting of his saddle, vaulted on his back, and motion- 
ing with his hand for the bystanders to make way, set spurs, 
passed the place from which he was to fire at a gallop, and, 
as he passed, threw up the reins, turned sideways upon his 
saddle, discharged his carabine, and brought down the pop- 
injay. Lord Evandale imitated his example, although many 
around him said it was an innovation on the established prac- 
tice which he was not obliged to follow. But his skill was 
not so perfect, or his horse was not so well trained. The ani- 
mal swerved at the moment his master fired, and the ball 
missed the popinjay. Those who had been surprised by the 
address of the green marksman were now equally pleased by 
his courtesy. He disclaimed all merit from the last shot, and 
proposed to his antagonist that it should not be counted as a 
hit, and that they should renew the contest on foot. 

“ I would prefer horseback, if I had ahorse as well bitted, 
and, probably, as well broken to the exercise, as yours , ” said 
the young Lord, addressing his antagonist. 

“ Will you do me the honor to use him for the next 
trial, on condition you will lend me yours ? ” said the young 
gentleman. 

Lord Evandale was ashamed to accept this courtesy, as 
conscious how much it would diminish the value of victory ; 
and yet, unable to suppress his wish to redeem his reputation 
as a marksman, he added, “that although he renounced all 
pretensions to the honor of the day (which he said somewhat 
scornfully), yet, if the victor had no particular objection, he 
would willingly embrace his obliging offer, and change horses 
with him for the purpose of trying a shot for love.” 

As he said so, he looked boldly towards Miss Bellenden, 
and tradition says, that the eyes of the young tirailleur trav- 
elled, though more covertly, in the same direction. The young 
Lord’s last trial was as unsuccessful as the former, and it was 
with difficulty that he preserved the tone of scornful indif- 
ference which he had hitherto assumed. But, conscious of 
the ridicule which attaches itself to the resentment of a los- 
ing party, he returned to his antagonist the horse on which 
he had made his last unsuccessful attempt, and received back 
his own ; giving at the same time, thanks to his competitor. 



Shooting the popinjay. 







OLD MORTALITY 


21 

who, he said, had re-established his favorite horse in his good 
opinion, for he had been in great danger of transferring to 
the poor nag the blame of an inferiority, which every one, 
as well as himself, must now be satisfied remained with the 
rider. Having made this speech in a tone in which mortifi- 
cation assumed the veil of indifference, he mounted his horse 
and rode off the ground. 

As is the usual way of the world, the applause and attention 
even of those whose wishes had favored Lord Evandale were, 
npon his decisive discomfiture, transferred to his triumphant 
rival. 

“ Who is he ? what is his name ? " ran from mouth to mouth 
among the gentry who were present, to few of whom he was 
personally known. His style and title having soon transpired, 
and being within that class whom a great man might notice 
without derogation, four of the Duke^s friends, with the obedi- 
ent start which poor Malvolio ascribes to his imaginary retinue, 
made out to lead the victor to his presence. As they conducted 
him in triumph through the crowd of spectators, and stunned 
him at the same time with their compliments on his success, 
he chanced to pass, or rather to be led, immediately in front 
of Lady Margaret and her granddaughter. The Captain of 
the Popinjay and Miss Bellenden colored like crimson, as the 
latter returned, with embarrassed courtesy, the low inclination 
which the victor made, even to the saddle-bow, in passing her. 

“ Ho you know that young person ?" said Lady Margaret. 

“ I — I — have seen him, madam, at my uncle's, and — and 
elsewhere occasionally," stammered Miss Edith Bellenden. 

“ I hear them say around me," said Lady Margaret, “ that 
the young spark is the nephew of old Milnwood." 

“ The son of the late Colonel Morton of Milnwood, who 
commanded a regiment of horse with great courage at Dunbar 
and Inverkeithing," said a gentleman who sat on horseback 
beside Lady Margaret. 

“ Ay, and who, before that, fought for the Covenanters 
both aOlarston Moor and Philiphaugh," said Lady Margaret, 
sighing as she pronounced the last fatal words, which her 
husband's death gave her such sad reason to remember. 

“Your ladyship's memory is just," said the gentleman, 
smiling, “but it were well all that were forgot now." 

“He ought to remember it, Gilbertscleugh," returned 
Lady Margaret, “and dispense with intruding himself into 
the company of those to whom his name must bring unpleas- 
jng recollections." 

You forget, my dear lady," said her nomeuclator, “that 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


22 

the young gentleman comes nere to discharge suit and service 
in name of his uncle. I would every estate in the country 
sent out as pretty a fellow.” 

“ His uncle, as well as his umquhile father, is a Kound- 
head, I presume,” said Lady Margaret. 

“He is an old miser,” said Gilbertscleugh, “with whom 
a broad piece would at any time weigh down political opinions, 
and, therefore, although probably somewhat against the grain, 
he sends the young gentleman to attend the muster to save 
pecuniary pains and penalties. As for the rest, I suppose the 
youngster is happy enough to escape here for a day from the 
dulness of the old house at Milnwood, where he sees nobody 
but his hypochondriac uncle and the favorite housekeeper.” 

“Do you know how many men and horse the lands of 
Milnwood are rated at ? ” said the old lady, continuing her 
inquiry. 

“Two horsemen with complete harness,” answered Gil- 
bertscleugh. 

“Our land,” said Lady Margaret, drawing herself up with 
dignity, “ has always furnished to the muster eight men, 
cousin Gilbertscleugh, and often a voluntary aid of thrice the 
number. I remember his sacred Majesty King Charles, when 
he took his disjune at Tillietudlem, was particular in in- 
quiring ” 

“I seethe Duke’s carriage in motion,” said Gilbertscleugh, 
partaking at the moment an alarm common to all Lady Mar- 
garet’s friends, when she touched upon the topic of the royal 
visit at the family mansion — “ I see the Duke’s carriage in 
motion ; I presume your ladyship will take your right of rank 
in leaving the field. May I be permitted to convoy your lady- 
ship and Miss Bellenden home ? Parties of the wild Whigs 
have been abroad, and are said to insult and disarm the well- 
affected who travel in small numbers.” 

“We thank you, cousin Gilbertscleugh,” said Lady Mar- 
garet ; “ but as we shall have the escort of my own people, I 
trust we have less need than others to be troublesome to our 
friends. Will you have the goodness to order Harrison to 
bring up our people somewhat more briskly ; he rides them 
towards us as if he were leading a funeral procession.” 

The gentleman in attendance communicated his lady’s 
orders to the trusty steward. 

Honest Harrison had his own reasons for doubting the pru- 
dence of this command ; but, once issued and received, there 
was a necessity for obeying it. He set off, therefore, at a 
band-gallop, followed by the butler, in such a military atti- 


OLD MORTALITY 


23 


tude as became one who had served under Montrose, and with 
a look of defiance, rendered sterner and fiercer by the inspiring 
fumes of a gill of brandy, which he had snatched a moment 
to bolt to the king's health and confusion to the Covenant, 
during the intervals of military duty. Unhappily this potent 
refreshment wiped away from the tablets of his memory the 
necessity of paying some attention to the distresses and diffi- 
culties of his rear-file. Goose Gibbie. No sooner had the 
horses struck a canter than Gibbie's jack-boots, which the 
poor boy's legs were incapable of steadying, began to play al- 
ternately against the horse's flanks, and, being armed with 
long-rowelled spurs, overcame the patience of the animal, 
which bounced and plunged, while poor Gibbie's entreaties 
for aid never reached the ears of the too heedless butler, being 
drowned partly in the concave of the steel cap in which his 
head was immersed, and partly in the martial tune of the 
“ Gallant Graemes," which Mr. Gudyill whistled with all his 
power of lungs. 

The upshot was that the steed speedily took the matter 
into his own hands, and having gambolled hither and thither 
to the great amusement of all spectators, set off at full speed 
towards the huge family coach already described. Gibbie's 
pike, escaping from its sling, had fallen to a level direction 
across his hands, which, I grieve to say, were seeking dishon- 
orable safety in as strong a grasp of the mane as their mus- 
cles could manage. His casque, too, had slipped completely 
over his face, so that he saw as little in front as he did in 
rear. Indeed, if he could, it would have availed him little in 
the circumstances ; for his horse, as if in league with the 
disaffected, ran full tilt towards the solemn equipage of the 
Duke, which the projecting lance threatened to perforate 
from window to window, at the risk of transfixing as many in 
its passage as the celebrated thrust of Orlando, which, accord- 
ing to the Italian epic poet, broached as many Moors as a 
Frenchman spits frogs. 

Oh beholding the bent of this misdirected career, a panic 
shout of mingled terror and wrath was set up by the whole 
equipage, insides and outsides at once, which had the happy 
effect of averting the threatened misfortune. The capricious 
horse of Goose Gibbie was terrified by the noise, and stum- 
bling as he turned short round, kicked and plunged violently 
as soon as he recovered. The jack-boots, the original cause 
of the disaster, maintaining the reputation they had acquired 
when worn by better cavaliers, answered every plunge by a 
fresh prick of the spurs, and by their ponderous weight kept 


24 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


their place in the stirrups. Not so Goose Gibbie, who was 
fairly spurned out of those wide and weighty greaves, and pre- 
cipitated over the horse’s head, to the infinite amusement of 
all the spectators. His lance and helmet had forsaken him 
in his fall, and, for the completion of his disgrace. Lady Mar- 
garet Bellenden, not perfectly aware that it was one of her 
own warriors who was furnishing so much entertainment, 
came up in time to see her diminutive man-at-arms stripped 
of his lion’s hide — of the buff coat, that is, in which he was 
muffled. 

As she had not been made acquainted with this metamor- 
phosis, and could not even guess its cause, her surprise and 
resentment were extreme, nor were they much modified by 
the excuses and explanations of her steward and butler. She 
made a hasty retreat homeward, extremely indignant at the 
shouts and laughter of the company, and much disposed to 
vent her displeasure on the refractory agriculturist whose place 
Goose Gibbie had so unhappily supplied. The greater part 
of the gentry now dispersed, the whimsical misfortune which 
had befallen the gensdarmerie of Tillietudlem furnishing them 
with huge entertainment on their road homeward. The horse- 
men also, in little parties, as their road lay together, diverged 
from the place of rendezvous, excepting such as, having tried 
their dexterity at the popinjay, were, by ancient custom, 
obliged to partake of a grace-cup with their captain before 
their departure. 


CHAPTER IV 


At fairs he play’d before the spearmen, 

And gaily graithed in their gear then, 

Steel bonnets, pikes, and swords shone clear then 
As ony bead ; 

Now wha sail play before sic weir-men, 

Since Habbie’s dead ? 

Elegy on Habbie Simpson. 

The cavalcade of horsemen on their road to the little borough- 
town were preceded by Niel Blane, the town-piper, mounted 
on his white galloway, armed with his dirk and broadsword, 
and bearing a chanter streaming with as many ribbons as 
would deck out six country belles for a fair or preaching. 
Niel, a clean, tight, well-timbered, long-winded fellow, had 

gained the official situation of town-piper of by his merit, 

with all the emoluments thereof ; namely, the piper's croft, 
as it is still called, a field of about an acre in extent, five merks, 
and a new livery-coat of the town's colors, yearly ; some hopes 
of a dollar upon the day of the election of magistrates, provid- 
ing the provost were able and willing to afford such a gratuity ; 
and the privilege of paying, at all the respectable houses in 
the neighborhood, an annual visit at spring-time, to rejoice 
their hearts with his music, to comfort his own with their ale 
and brandy, and to beg from each a modicum of seed-corn. 

In addition to these inestimable advantages, Niel's personal 
or professional accomplishments won the heart of a jolly 
widow who then kept the principal change-house in the bor- 
ough. Her former husband having been a strict Presbyterian, 
of such note that he usually went among his sect by the name 
of Graius the Publican, many of the more rigid were scanda- 
lized by the profession of the successor whom his relict had 
chosen for a second helpmate. As the “ browst " or brewing 
of the Howff retained, nevertheless, its unrivalled reputation, 
most of the old customers continued to give it a preference. 
The character of the new landlord, indeed, was of that ac- 
commodating kind which enabled him, by close attention to 
the helm, to keep his little vessel pretty steady amid the con- 
tending tides of faction. He was a good-humored, shrewd, 

■ib 


26 


WAVE BLEY NOVELS 


selfish sort of fellow, indifferent alike to the disputes about 
church and state, and only anxious to secure the good-will of 
customers of every description. But his character, as well as 
the state of the country, will be best understood by giving 
the reader an account of the instructions which he issued to 
his daughter, a girl about eighteen, whom he was initiating 
in those cares which had been faithfully discharged by his 
wife, until about six months before our story commences, 
when the honest woman had been carried to the kirkyard. 

“Jenny,” said Niel Blade, as the girl assisted to disen- 
cumber him of his bagpipes, “this is the first day that ye are 
to take the place of your worthy mother in attending to the 
public ; a douce woman she was, civil to the customers, and 
had a good name wi' Whig and Tory, baith up the street and 
down the street. It will be hard for you to fill her place, es- 
pecially on sic a thrang day as this ; but Heaven's will maun 
be obeyed. Jenny, whatever Milnwood ca's for, be sure he 
maun hae't, for he's the Captain o' the Popinjay, and auld 
customs maun be supported ; if he canna pay the lawing him- 
sell, as I ken he's keepit unco short by the head. I'll find a 
way to shame it out o' his uncle. The curate is playing at 
dice wi' Cornet Grahame. Be eident and civil to them baith ; 
clergy and captains can gie an unco deal o' fash in thae times, 
where they take an ill-will. The dragoons will be crying for 
ale, and they wunna want it, and maunna want it ; they are un- 
ruly chields, but they pay ane some gate or other. I gat the 
humlie-cow, that's the best in the byre, frae black Frank Inglis 
and Sergeant Bothwell for ten pund Scots, and they drank 
out the price at ae downsitting.'' 

“ But, father,'' interrupted Jenny, “ they say the twa reiv- 
ing loons drave the cow frae the gudewife o' Bell's Moor, just 
because she gaed to hear a field-preacliing ae Sabbath after- 
noon.'' 

“ Whisht ! ye silly tawpie,'' said her father, “ we have nae- 
thing to do how they come by the bestial they sell ; be that 
at ween them and their consciences. A weel, take notice, J enny, 
of that dour, s tour-looking carle that sits by the cheek o' the 
ingle and turns his back on a' men. He looks like ane o' the 
hill-folk, for I saw him start a wee when he saw the redcoats, 
and I jalouse he wad hae liked to hae ridden by, but his horse 
— it's a gude gelding — was ower sair travailed ; he behoved to 
stop whether he wad or no. Serve him cannily, Jenny, and 
wi' little din, and dinna bring the sodgers on hii. speering 
ony questions at him ; but let na him hae a room to himsell, 
they wad say we were hiding him. For yoursell, Jenny, 


OLD MORTALITY 


27 


ye'll be civil to a' the folk, and take nae heed o' ony nonsense 
and daffing the young lads may say t'ye. Folk in the hostler 
line maun pit up wi' muckle. Your mither, rest her saul, 
could pit up wi' as muckle as maist women, but atf hands is 
fair play ; and if onybody be uncivil ye may gie me a cry. 
Aweel, when the malt begins to get aboon the meal, they'll 
begin to speak about government in kirk and state, and then, 
Jenny, they are like to quarrel. Let them be doing : anger's 
a drouthy passion, and the mair they dispute, the mair ale 
they'll drink ; but ye were best serve them wi' a pint o' the sma' 
browst, it will heat them less, and they'll never ken the differ- 
ence." 

“ But, father," said Jenny, “if they come to lounder ilk 
ither, as they did the last time, suldna I cry on you ? " 

“At no hand, Jenny ; the redder gets aye the warst lick 
in the fray. If the sodgers draw their swords, ye'll cry on the 
corporal and the guard. If the country folk tak the tangs 
and poker, ye'll cry on the bailie and town-officers. But in 
nae event cry on me, for I am wearied wi' doudling the bag o' 
wind a' day, and I am gaun to eat my dinner quietly in the 
spence. And now I think on't, the Laird of Lickitup — that's 
him that was the laird — was speering for sma' drink and a 
saut herring. Gie him a pu' be the sleeve, and round into his 
lug I wad be blithe o' his company to dine wi' me ; he was a 
gude customer anes in a day, and wants naething but means 
to be a gude ane again : he likes drink as weel as e'er he did. 
And if ye ken ony puir body o' our acquaintance that's blate 
for want o' siller, and has far to gang hame, ye needna stick 
to gie them a waught o' drink and a bannock ; we'll ne'er 
miss' t, and it looks creditable in a house like ours. And now, 
hinny, gang awa' and serve the folk ; but first bring me my 
dinner, and twa chappins o' yill and the mutchkin stoup o' 
brandy." 

Having thus devolved his whole cares on Jenny as prime 
minister, Niel Blane and the ci-devant laird, once his patron, 
but now glad to be his trencher-companion, sat down to en- 
joy themselves for the remainder of the evening, remote from 
the bustle of the public room. 

All in Jenny's department was in full activity. The knights 
of the popinjay received and requited the hospitable enter- 
tainment of their captain, who, though he spared the cup 
himself, took care it should go round with due celerity among 
the rest, who might not have otherwise deemed themselves 
handsomely treated. Their numbers melted away by degrees, 
and were at length diminished to four or five, who began to 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


ss 

talk of breaking up their party. At another table, at some 
distance, sat two of the dragoons whom Niel Blane had men- 
tioned, a sergeant and a private in the celebrated John 
Grahame of Claverhouse's regiment of Life Guards. Even 
the non-commissioned officers and privates in these corps were 
not considered as ordinary mercenaries, but rather approached 
to the rank of the French mousquetaires, being regarded in 
the light of cadets, who performed the duties of rank and file 
with the prospect of obtaining commissions in case of distin- 
guishing themselves. 

Many young men of good families were to be found in the 
ranks, a circumstance which added to the pride and self-con- 
sequence of these troops. A remarkable instance of this oc- 
curred in the person of the non-commissioned officer in ques- 
tion. His real name was Francis Stewart ; but he was 
universally known by the appellation of Bothwell, being line- 
ally descended from the last earl of that name, not the 
infamous lover of the unfortunate Queen Mary, but Francis 
Stewart, Earl of Bothwell, whose turbulence and repeated 
conspiracies embarrassed the early part of James Sixth's 
reign, and who at length died in exile in great poverty. The 
son of this earl had sued to Charles I. for the restitution of 
part of his father's forfeited estates ; but the grasp of the 
nobles to whom they had been allotted was too tenacious to 
be unclinched. The breaking out of the civil wars utterly 
ruined him, by intercepting a small pension which Charles I. 
had allowed him, and he died in the utmost indigence. His 
son, who, after having served as a soldier abroad and in Britain, 
had passed through several vicissitudes of fortune, was fain 
to content himself with the situation of a non-commissioned 
officer in the Life Guards, although lineally descended from 
the royal family, the father of the forfeited Earl of Bothwell 
having been a natural son of James V.* Great personal 
strength, and dexterity in the use of his arms, as well as the 
remarkable circumstances of his descent, had recommended 
this man to the attention of his officers. But he partook in 
a great degree of the licentiousness and oppressive disposition 
which the habit of acting as agents for government in levying 
fines, exacting free quarters, and otherwise oppressing the 
Presbyterian recusants, had rendered too general among these 
soldiers. They were so much accustomed to such missions, 
that they conceived themselves at liberty to commit all man- 
ner of license with impunity, as if totally exempted from 
all law and authority, excepting the command of their offi- 

* See Sergeant Bothwell. Note 5. 


OLD MORTALITY 20 

Cers. On snch occasions Botliwell was usually the most for- 
ward. 

It is probable that Bothwell and his companions would 
not so long have remained quiet but for respect to the 
presence of their cornet, who commanded the small party 
quartered in the borough, and who was engaged in a game at 
dice with the curate of the place. But both of these being 
suddenly called from their amusement to speak with the 
chief magistrate upon some urgent business, Bothwell was 
not long of evincing his contempt for the rest of the company. 

“ Is it not a strange thing, Halliday," he said to his com- 
rade, “ to see a set of bumpkins sit carousing here this whole 
evening without having drunk the king's health ?" 

“ They have drank the king's health," said Halliday. 
“ I heard that green kail-worm of a lad name his Majesty's 
health." 

“ Did he?" said Bothwell. “ Then, Tom, we'll have 
them drink the Archbishop of St. Andrews' health, and do 
it on their knees too." 

“ So we will, by G — ," said Halliday ; “ and he that re- 
fuses it, we, 'll have him to the guard-house, and teach him 
to ride the:colt foaled of an acorn, with a brace of carabines 
at each focft to keep him steady." 

“Riggt, Tom," continued Bothwell; “and, to do all 
things in order. I'll begin with that sulky blue-bonnet in the 
ingle-nook." 

He rose accordingly, and taking his sheathed broad- 
sword under his arm to support the insolence which he med- 
itated, placed himself in front of the stranger noticed by 
Niel Blane, in his admonitions to his daughter, as being, 
in all probability, one of the hill-folk, or refractory Presby- 
terians. 

“ I make so bold as to request of your precision, beloved," 
said the trooper, in a tone of aflected solemnity, and as- 
suming the snuffle of a country preacher, “that you will 
arise from your seat, beloved, and, having bent your hams 
until your knees do rest upon the floor, beloved, that you 
will turn over this measure, called by the profane a gill, of 
the comfortable creature, which the carnal denominate 
brandy, to the health and glorification of his Grace the Arch- 
bishop of St. Andrews, the worthy primate of all Scotland." 

All waited for the stranger's answer. His features, aus- 
tere even to ferocity, with a cast of eye which, without being 
actually oblique, approached nearly to a squint, and which 
gave a very sinister expression to his countenance, joined to 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


a frame, square, strong, and muscular, though something 
under the middle size, seemed to announce a man unlikely 
to understand rude jesting, or to receive insults with im- 
punity. 

“And what is the consequence,” said he, “if I should 
not be disposed to comply with your uncivil request ? ” 

“The consequence thereof, beloved,” said Bothwell, in 
the same tone of raillery, “ will be, firstly, that I will tweak 
thy proboscis or nose. Secondly, beloved, that I will admin- 
ister my fist to thy distorted visual optics ; and will conclude, 
beloved, with a practical application of the flat of my sword 
to the shoulders of the recusant.” 

“Is it even so ?” said the stranger; “then give me the 
cup ; ” and, taking it in his hand, he said, with a peculiar 
expression of voice and manner, “ The Archbishop of St. 
Andrews, and the place he now worthily holds ; may each 
prelate in Scotland soon be as the Right Reverend James 
Sharp ! ” 

“ He has taken the test,” said Halliday, exultingly. 

“But with a qualification,” said Bothwell; “I don't 
understand what the devil the crop-eared Whig means.” 

“ Come, gentlemen,” said Morton, who became impatient 
of their insolence, “we are here met as good subjects, and on 
a merry occasion ; and we have a right to expect we shall not 
be troubled with this sort of discussion.” 

Bothwell was about to make a surly answer, but ifalliday 
reminded him in a whisper that there were strict injunctions 
that the soldiers should give no offence to the men who were 
sent out to the musters agreeably to the council's orders. So, 
after honoring Morton with a broad and fierce stare, he said, 
“ Well, Mr. Popinjay, I shall not disturb your reign ; I reckon 
it will be out by twelve at night. Is it not an odd thing, 
Halliday,” he continued, addressing his companion, “that 
they should make such a fuss about cracking off their birding- 
pieces at a mark which any woman or boy could hit at a day's 
practice ? If Captain Popinjay now, or any of his troop, 
would try a bout, either with the broadsword, backsword, 
single rapier, or rapier and dagger, for a gold noble, the first- 
drawn blood, there would be some soul in it ; or, zounds, 
would the bumpkins but wrestle, or pitch the bar, or put the 
stone, or throw the axletree, if (touching the end of Morton's 
sword scornfully with his toe) they carry things about them 
that they are afraid to draw.” 

Morton's patience and prudence now gave way entirely, 
and he was about to make a very angry answer to Both- 


OLD MORTALITY 


31 


well’s insolent observations when the stranger stepped for- 
ward. 

“ This is my quarrel/’ he said, “ and in the name of the 
good cause I will see it out myself. Hark thee, friend (to 
Bothwell) wilt thou wrestle a fall with me ?” 

“ With my whole spirit, beloved,” answered Bothwell ; 
“ yea, I will strive with thee, to the downfall of one or 
both.” 

“ Then, as my trust is in Him that can help,” retorted his 
antagonist, ‘ ‘ I will forthwith make thee an example to all 
such railing Rabshakehs.” 

With that he dropped his coarse gray horseman’s coat from 
his shoulders, and extending his strong brawny arms with a 
look of determined resolution, he offered himself to the contest. 
The soldier was nothing abashed by the muscular frame, broad 
chest, square shoulders, and hardy look of his antagonist, but 
whistling with great composure, unbuckled his belt, and laid 
aside his military coat. The company stood round them, 
anxious for the event. 

In the first struggle the trooper seemed to have some ad- 
vantage, and also in the second, though neither could be con- 
sidered as decisive. But it was plain he had put his whole 
strength too suddenly forth against an antagonist possessed of 
great endurance, skill, vigor, and length of wind. In the 
third close the countryman lifted his opponent fairly from the 
floor and hurled him to the ground with such violence that he 
lay for an instant stunned and motionless. His comrade 
Halliday immediately drew his sword : “ You have killed my 
sergeant,” he exclaimed to the victorious wrestler; “and by 
all that is sacred you shall answer it ! ” 

“ Stand back !” cried Morton and his companions. “ It 
was all fair play ; your comrade sought a fall, and he has got it.” 

“ That is true enough,” said Bothwell, as he slowly rose ; 
“ put up your bilbo, Tom. I did not think there was a crop- 
ear of them all could have laid the best cap and feather in the 
King’s Life Guards on the floor of a rascally change-house. 
Hark ye, friend, give me your hand.” The stranger held out 
his hand. “I promise you,” said Bothwell, squeezing his 
hand very hard, “ that the time will come when we shall meet 
again and try this game over in a more earnest manner.” 

“And I’ll promise you,” said the stranger, returning the 
grasp with equal firmness, “ that when we next meet I will 
lay your head as low as it lay even now, when you shall lack 
the power to lift it up again.” 

“Well, beloved,” answered Bothwell, “if thou be’st a 


32 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


Whig, thou art a stout and a brave one, and so good even to 
thee. Hadst best take thy nag before the Cornet makes the 
round ; for I promise thee he has stay’d less suspicious-looking 
persons." 

The stranger seemed to think that the hint was not to be 
neglected ; he flung down his reckoning, and going into the 
stable, saddled and brought out a powerful black horse, now 
recruited by rest and forage, and turning to Morton, observed, 
“ I ride towards Milnwood, which I hear is your home ; will 
you give me the advantage and protection of your company ?" 

“ Certainly," said Morton, although there was something 
of gloomy and relentless severity in the man’s manner from 
which his mind recoiled. His companions, after a courteous 
good-night, broke up and went off in different directions, some 
keeping them company for about a mile, until they dropped 
off one by one, and the travellers were left alone. 

The company had not long left the Howff, as Blane’s pub- 
lic-house was called, when the trumpets and kettle-drums 
sounded. The troopers got under arms in the market-place 
at this unexpected summons, while, with faces of anxiety and 
earnestness. Cornet Grahame, a kinsman of Claverhouse, and 
the provost of the borough, followed by half a dozen soldiers 
and town-officers with halberts, entered the apartment of Kiel 
Blane. 

“ Guard the doors ! " were the first words which the Cor- 
net spoke ; “ let no man leave the house. So, Bothwell, how 
comes this ? Hid you not hear them sound boot and saddle ? " 

“ He was just going to quarters, sir," said his comrade ; 
“ he has had a bad fall." 

“ In a fray, I suppose ?" said Grahame. “ If you neglect 
duty in this way, your royal blood will hardly protect you." 

“ How have I neglected duty ? " said Bothwell, sulkily. 

“ You should have been at quarters. Sergeant Bothwell," 
replied the officer ; “ you have lost a golden opportunity. 
Here are news come that the Archbishop of St. Andrews has 
been strangely and foully assassinated by a body of the rebel 
AVhigs, who pursued and stopped his carriage on Magus 
Muir, near the town of St. Andrews, dragged him out, and 
despatched him with their swords and daggers."* 

All stood aghast at the intelligence. 

“ Here are their descriptions," continued the Cornet, pull- 
ing out a proclamation ; “ the reward of a thousand merks is 
on each of their heads." 

“ The test, the test, and the qualification !" said Both- 

*See Assassination of Archbishop Sharp. Note 6. 


OLD MORTALITY 


33 


well to Ilalliday ; “ I know the meaning now. Zounds, that 
we should not have stopped him ! Go, saddle our horses, Hal- 
liday. Was there one of the men. Cornet, very stout and 
square-made, double-chested, thin in the flanks, hawk-nosed ? " 

“ Stay, stay," said Cornet Grahame, “let me look at the 
paper. Hackston of Rathillet, tall, thin, black-haired." 

“ That is not my man," said Bothwell. 

“John Balfour, called Burley, aquiline nose, red-haired, 
five feet eight inches in height " 

“ It is he — it is the very man ! " said Bothwell ; “ skellies 
fearfully with one eye ? " 

“ Right," continued Grahame ; “ rode a strong black horse, 
taken from the primate at the time of the murder." 

“ The very man," exclaimed Bothwell, “ and the very 
horse ! He was in this room not a quarter of an hour since." 

A few hasty inquiries tended still more to confirm the 
opinion that the reserved and stern stranger was Balfour of 
Burley, the actual commander of the band of assassins who, 
in the fury of misguided zeal, had murdered the primate whom 
they accidently met as they were searching for another per- 
son against whom they bore enmity.* In their excited imag- 
ination the casual rencounter had the appearance of a provi- 
dential interference, and they put to death the archbishop, with 
circumstances of great and cold-blooded cruelty, under the 
belief that the Lord, as they expressed it, had delivered him 
into their hands, f 

“ Horse, horse, and pursue, my lads ! " exclaimed Cornet 
Grahame ; “ the murdering dog's head is worth its weight in 
gold." 

* See Sheriff-Depute Carmichael. Note 7. 
t See Murderers of Archbishop Sharp. Note 8. 


CHAPTER Y 


Arouse thee, youth ! It is no human call : 

God’s church is leaguer’d, haste to man the wall ; 

Haste where the red-cross banners wave on high, 

Signal of honour’d death or victory ! 

James Duff. 

Mortox and his companion had attained some distance from 
the town before either of them addressed the other. There 
was something, as we have observed, repulsive in the manner 
of the stranger which prevented Morton from opening the con- 
versation, and he himself seemed to have no desire to talk, 
until, on a sudden, he abruptly demanded, “ What has your 
father's son to do with such profane mummeries as I find you 
this day engaged in ? ” 

“I do my duty as a subject, and pursue my harmless rec- 
reations according to my own pleasure/' replied Morton, some- 
what offended. 

“ Is it your duty, think you, or that of any Christian young 
man, to bear arms in their cause who have poured out the 
blood of Cod's saints in the wilderness as if it had been water ? 
Or is it a lawful recreation to waste time in shooting at a 
bunch of feathers, and close your evening with wine-bibbing 
in public-houses and market-towns, when He that is mighty 
is come into the land with His fan in His hand, to purge the 
wheat from the chaff ? " 

“I suppose from your style of conversation,” said Morton, 
“that you are one of those who have thought proper to stand 
out against the government. I must remind you that you are 
unnecessarily using dangerous language in the presence of a 
mere stranger, and that the times do not render it safe forme 
to listen to it.” 

“ Thou canst not help it, Henry Morton,” said his com- 
panion ; “ thy Master has His uses for thee, and when He 
calls, thou must obey. Well wot I thou hast not heard the 
call of a true preacher, or thou hadst ere now been what thou 
wilt assuredly one day become.” 

“We are of the Presbyterian persuasion, like yourself,” 
said Morton ; for his uncle's family attended the ministry of 


OLD MORTALITY 


S5 


one of those numerous Presbyterian clergymen, who, comply- 
ing with certain regulations, were licensed to preach without 
interruption from the government. This “ indulgence,” as it 
was called, made a great schism among the Presbyterians, and 
those who accepted of it were severely censured by the more 
rigid sectaries, who refused the protfered terms. 

The stranger, therefore, answered with great disdain to 
Morton’s profession of faith. “ That is but an equivocation 
* — a poor equivocation. Ye listen on the Sabbath to a cold, 
wordly, time-serving discourse from one who forgets his 
high commission so much as to hold his apostleship by the 
favor of the courtiers and the false prelates, and ye call 
that hearing the Word ! Of all the baits with which the 
devil has fished for souls in these days of blood and darkness, 
that Black Indulgence has been the most destructive. An 
awful dispensation it has been, a smiting of the shepherd and 
a scattering of the sheep upon the mountains, an uplifting of 
one Christian banner against another, and a fighting of the 
wars of darkness with the swords of the children of light ! ” 

“ My uncle,” said Morton, “is of opinion that we enjoy a 
reasonable freedom of conscience under the indulged clergy- 
men, and I must necessarily be guided by his sentiments re- 
specting the choice of a place of worship for his family.” 

“ Your uncle,” said the horseman, “is one of those to 
whom the least lamb in his own folds at Milnwood is dearer 
than the whole Christian flock. He is one that could willingly 
bend down to the golden calf of Bethel, and would have fished 
for the dust thereof when it was ground to powder and cast 
upon the waters. Thy father was a man of another stamp.” 

“My father,” replied Morton, “ was indeed a brave and 
gallant man. And you may have heard, sir, that he fought 
for that royal family in whose name I was this day carrying 
arms.” 

“Ay, and had he lived to see these days, he would have 
cursed the hour he ever drew sword in their cause ; hut more 
of this hereafter. I promise thee full surely that thy hour 
will come, and then the words thou hast now heard will stick 
in thy bosom like barbed arrows. My road lies there.” 

He pointed towards a pass leading up into a wild extent of 
dreary and desolate hills ; but as he was about to turn his 
horse’s head into the rugged path which led from the high-road 
in that direction, an old woman wrapped in a red cloak, who was 
sitting by the cross-way, arose, and approaching him said, in a 
mysterious tone of voice, “ If ye be of ourain folk, gangna up 
the pass the night for your lives. There is a lion in the path 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


that is there. The curate of Brotlierstane ana ten soldiers hae 
beset the pass to hae the lives of ony of our puir wanderers 
that venture that gate to join wi’ Hamilton and Dingwall." 

“ Have the persecuted folk drawn to any head among them- 
selves ? " demanded the stranger. 

“ About sixty or seventy horse and foot," said the old dame ; 
“ but, ewhow ! they are puirly armed, and warse fended wi’ 
victual." 

“ God will help His own," said the horseman. “ Which 
way shall I take to join them ?’’ 

“ Ik’s a mere impossibility this night," said the woman, 
“ the troopers keep sae strict a guard ; and they say there’s 
strange news come frae the east that makes them rage in 
their cruelty mair fierce than ever. Ye maun take shelter 
somegate for the night before ye get to the muirs, and keep 
yoursell in hiding till the gray o’ the morning, and then you 
may find your way through the Drake Moss. When I heard 
the awf u’ threatenings o’ the oppressors, I e’en took my cloak 
about me and sat down by the wayside to warn ony of our 
puir scattered remnant that chanced to come this gate, be- 
fore they fell into the nets of the spoilers." 

“ Have you a house near this ? ’’ said the stranger ; “ and 
can you give me hiding there ?’’ 

“ 1 have," said the old woman, “ a hut by the wayside, 
it may be a mile from hence ; but four men of Belial, called 
dragoons, are lodged therein, to spoil my household goods at 
their pleasure, because I will not wait upon the thowless, 
thriftless, fissenless ministry of that carnal man, John Half- 
text, the curate." 

“ Good-night, good woman, and thanks for thy counsel," 
said the stranger as he rode away. 

“ The blessings of the promise upon you," returned the 
old dame ; “may He keep you that can keep you." 

“ Amen !’’ said the traveller ; “for where to hide my head 
this night mortal skill cannot direct me." 

“ I am very sorry for your distress," said Morton ; “ and 
had I a house or place of shelter that could be called my own, 

I almost think I would risk the utmost rigor of the law rather 
than leave you in such a strait. But my uncle is so alarmed 
at the pains and penalties denounced by the laws against such 
as comfort, receive, or consort with intercommuned persons, 
that he has strictly forbidden all of us to hold any intercourse 
with them." 

“ It is no less than 1 expected," said the stranger ; “ never- 
theless, I might be received without his knowledge. A barn. 


OLD MORTALITY' 


37 


a hay-loft, a cart-shed, any place where I could stretch me 
down, would be to my habits like a tabernacle of silver set 
about with planks of cedar.” 

“ I assure you,” said Morton, much embarrassed, “ that I 
have not the means of receiving you at Milnwood without my 
uncle's consent and knowledge ; nor, if I could do so, would 
I think myself justifiable in engaging him unconsciously in a 
danger which, most of all others, lie fears and deprecates.” 

“Well,” said the traveller, “ I have but one word to say. 
Did you ever hear your father mention John Balfour of Bur- 
ley ?” 

“ His ancient friend and comrade who saved his life, with 
almost the loss of his own, in the battle of Long Marston 
Moor ? Often, very often.” 

“ I am that Balfour,” said his companion. “ Yonder 
stands thy uncle's house ; I see the light among the trees. 
The avenger of blood is behind me, and my death certain 
unless I have refuge there. Now, make thy choice, young 
man ; to shrink from the side of thy father's friend like a 
thief in the night, and to leave him exposed to the bloody 
death from which he rescued thy father, or to expose thine 
uncle's worldly goods to such peril as in this perverse gener- 
ation attends those who give a morsel of bread or a draught 
of cold water to a Christian man when perishing for lack of 
refreshment ! ” 

A thousand recollections thronged on the mind of Morton 
at once. His father, whose memory he idolized, had often 
enlarged upon his obligations to this man, and regretted that 
after having been long comrades, they had parted in some 
unkindness at the time when the kingdom of Scotland was 
divided into Resolutioners and Protesters ; the former of 
whom adhered to Charles II., after his father's death upon 
the scaffold, while the Protesters inclined rather to a union 
with the triumphant republicans. The stern fanaticism of 
Burley had attached him to this latter party, and the com- 
rades had parted in displeasure, never, as it happened, to 
meet again. These circumstances the deceased Colonel 
Morton had often mentioned to his son, and always with an 
expression of deep regret that he had never, in any manner, 
been enabled to repay the assistance which on more than one 
occasion he had received from Burley. 

To hasten Morton's decision, the night-wind, as it swept 
along, brought from a distance the sullen sound of a kettle- 
drum, which, seeming to approach nearer, intimated that a 
body of horse were upon their march towards them. 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


“ It must be Claverhouse with the rest of his regiment. 
What can have occasioned this night-march ? If you go on 
you fall into their hands ; if you turn back towards the 
borough-town you are in no less danger from Cornet Grahame’s 
party. The path to the hill is beset. I must shelter you at 
Milnwood, or expose you to instant death ; but the punish- 
ment of the law shall fall upon myself, as in justice it should, 
not upon my uncle. Follow me.” 

Burley, who had awaited his resolution with great compo- 
sure, now followed him in silence. 

The house of Milnwood, built by the father of the present 
proprietor, was a decent mansion, suitable to the size of the 
estate, but since the accession of this owner, it had been suf- 
fered to go considerably into disrepair. At some little dis- 
tance from the house stood the court of offices. Here Morton 
paused. 

“ I must leave you here for a little while,” he whispered, 
<( until I can provide a bed for you in the house.” 

“ I care little for such delicacy,” said Burley ; “ for thirty 
years this head has rested oftener on the turf, or on the next 
gray stone, than upon either wool or down. A draught of ale, 
a morsel of bread, to say my prayers, and to stretch me upon 
dry hay, were to me as good as a painted chamber and a prince’s 
table.” 

It occurred to Morton at the same moment that to attempt 
to introduce the fugitive within the house would materially in- 
crease the danger of detection. Accordingly, having struck 
a light with implements left in the stable for that purpose, and 
having fastened up their horses, he assigned. Burley for his 
place of repose a wooden bed, placed in a loft half full of hay, 
which an out-of-door domestic had occupied until dismissed by 
his uncle in one of those fits of parsimony which became more 
rigid from day to day. In this untenanted loft Morton left his 
companion, with a caution so to shade his light that no reflec- 
tion might be seen from the window, and a promise that he 
would presently return with such refreshments as he might 
be able to procure at that late hour. This last, indeed, was a 
subject on which he felt by no means confident, for the power 
of obtaining even the most ordinary provisions depended en- 
tirely upon the humor in which he might happen to find his 
uncle’s sole confidante, the old housekeeper. If she chanced 
to be abed, which was very likely, or out of humor, which 
was not less so, Morton well knew the case to be at least 
problematical. 

Cursing in his heart the sordid parsimony which pervaded 


OLD MORTALITY 


39 


every part of his uncle's establishment, he gave the usual 
gentle knock at the bolted door, by which he was accustomed 
to seek admittance when accident had detained him abroad 
beyond the early and established hours of rest at the house of 
Milnwood. It was a sort of hesitating tap, which carried an 
acknowledgment of transgression in its very sound, and seemed 
rather to solicit than command attention. After it had been 
repeated again and again, the housekeeper, grumbling betwixt 
her teeth as she rose from the chimney-corner in the hall, and 
wrapping her checked handkerchief round her head to secure 
her from the cold air, paced across the stone passage, and re- 
peated a careful “ Wha's there at this time o' night ?" more 
than once before she undid the bolts and bars and cautiously 
opened the door. 

“ This is a fine time o' night, Mr. Henry/' said the old 
dame, with the tyrannic insolence of a spoiled and favorite 
domestic ; “a braw time o' night and a bonny to disturb a 
peaceful house in, and to keep quiet folk out o' their beds 
waiting for you. Your uncle's been in his maist three hours 
syne, and Robin's ill o' the rheumatize, and he's to his bed too, 
andsae I had to situpforyemysell, f or as sair a hoast aslhae." 

Here she coughed once or twice in further evidence of the 
egregious inconvenience which she had sustained. 

“ Much obliged to you, Alison, and many kind thanks." 

“ Hegh, sirs, sae fair-fashioned as we are ! Mony folk ca' 
me Mistress Wilson, and Milnwood himsell is the only ane 
about this town thinks o' ca'ing me Alison, and indeed he as 
often says Mrs. Alison as ony other thing." 

“Well, then, Mistress Alison," said Morton, “I really 
am sorry to have kept you up waiting till I came in." 

“And now that you are come in, Mr. Henry," said the cross 
old woman, “ what for do you no tak up your candle and gang to 
your bed ? and mind ye dinna let the candle sweal as ye gang 
alang the wainscot parlor, and haud a' the house scouring to 
get out the grease again." 

“But, Alison, I really must have something to eat, and 
a draught of ale, before I go to bed." 

“ Eat ! and ale, Mr. Henry ! My certie, ye're ill to serve. 
Ho ye think we havena heard o' your grand popinjay wark 
yonder, and how ye bleezed away as muckle pouther as wad 
hae shot a' the wild-fowl that we'll want atween this and 
Candlemas ; and then ganging majoring to the piper's Howff 
wi' a' the idle loons in the country, and sitting there birling 
at your poor uncle's cost, nae doubt, wi' a' the scaff and raff o' 


40 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


the water-side till sundown, and then coming hame and crying 
for ale as if ye were maister and mair ! " 

Extremely vexed, yet anxious, on account of his guest, to 
procure refreshments if possible, Morton suppressed his re- 
sentment, and good-humoredly assured Mrs. Wilson that he 
was really both hungry and thirsty ; “and as for the shooting 
at the popinjay, I have heard you say you have been there 
yourself, Mrs. Wilson. I wish you had come to look at us." 

“Ah, Maister Henry," said the old dame, “I wish ye 
binna beginning to learn the way of blawing in a woman's 
lug wi' a' your whilly-wha's ! Aweel, sae ye dinna practise 
them but on auld wives like me the less matter. But tak heed 
o' the young queans, lad. Popinjay — ye think yoursell a 
braw fellow enow ; and troth ! [surveying him with the 
candle] there's nae fault to find wi' the outside, if the inside 
be conforming. But I mind when I was a gilpy of a lassock 
seeing the Duke — that was him that lost his head at London; 
folks said it wasna a very gude ane, but it was aye a sair loss 
to him, puir gentleman. Aweel, he wan the popinjay, for 
few cared to win it ower his Grace's head. Weel, he had a 
comely presence, and when a' the gentles mounted to show 
their capers, his Grace was as near to me as I am to you, and 
he said to me, ‘ Tak tent o' yoursell, my bonny lassie ' — these 
were his very words — ‘for my horse is not very chancy.' 
And now, as ye say ye had sae little to eat or drink. I'll 
let you see that I ha vena been sae unmindfu' o' you ; for 
I dinna think it's safe for young folk to gang to their bed on 
an empty stamach." * 

To do Mrs. Wilson justice, her nocturnal harangues upon 
such occasions not unfrequently terminated with this sage 
apothegm, which always prefaced the producing of some pro- 
vision a little better than ordinary, such as she now placed 
before him. In fact, the principal object of her “maunder- 
ing" was to display her consequence and love of power ; for 
Mrs. Wilson was not at the bottom an ill-tempered woman, 
and certainly loved her old and young master (both of whom 
she tormented extremely) better than any one else in the 
world. She now eyed Mr. Henry, as she called him, with 
great complacency as he partook of her good cheer. 

“ Muckle gude may it do ye, my bonny man. I trow ye 
dinna get sic a skirl-in-the-pan as that at Kiel Blane's. His 
wife was a canny body, and could dress things very weel for 
ane in her line o' business, but no like a gentleman's house- 
keeper, to be sure. But I doubt the daughter's a silly thing ; 
an uncp cockernony she had busked on her head at the kirk last 


OLD MORTALITY 


41 


Sunday. I am doubting that there will be news o’ a' thae 
braws. But my auld even's drawing thegither ; dinna hurry 
your sell, my bonny man. Tak mind about the putting out 
the candle, and there's a horn of ale and a glass of clow-gillie- 
flower water. I dinna gie ilka body that ; I keep it for a pain 
I hae whiles in my ain stamach, and it's better for your young 
blood than brandy. Sae gude-night to ye, Mr. Henry, and 
see that ye tak gude care o' the candle." 

Morton promised to attend punctually to her caution, and 
requested her not to be alarmed if she heard the door opened, 
as she knew he must again, as usual, look to his horse and 
arrange him for the night. Mrs. Wilson then retreated, and 
Morton, folding up his provisions, was about to hasten to his 
guest when the nodding head of the old housekeeper was 
again thrust in at the door with an admonition to remember 
to take an account of his ways before he laid himself down 
to rest, and to pray for protection during the hours of dark- 
ness. 

Such were the manners of a certain class of domestics,* 
once common in Scotland, and perhaps still to be found in 
some old manor-houses in its remote counties. They were 
fixtures in the family they belonged to ; and, as they never 
conceived the possibility of such a thing as dismissal to be 
within the chances of their lives, they were, of course, sin- 
cerely attached to every member of it. On the other hand, 
when spoiled by the indulgence or indolence of their superi- 
ors, they were very apt to become ill-tempered, self-sufficient, 
and tyrannical ; so much so that a mistress or master would 
sometimes almost have wished to exchange their cross-grained 
fidelity for the smooth and accommodating duplicity of a 
modern menial. 

* See Old Family Servants. Note 9. 


CHAPTER VI 


Yea, this man’s brow, like to a tragic leaf, 

Foretells the nature of a tragic volume. 

Shakespeare. 

Being at length rid of the housekeeper’s presence, Morton 
made a collection of what he had reserved from the provisions 
set before him and prepared to carry them to his concealed 
guest. He did not think it necessary to take a light, being 
perfectly acquainted with every turn of the road ; and it was 
lucky he did not do so, for he had hardly stepped beyond the 
threshold ere a heavy tramping of horses announced that the 
body of cavalry, whose kettle-drums * they had before heard, 
were in the act of passing along the high-road which winds 
round the foot of the bank on which the house of Milnwood 
was placed. He heard the commanding officer distinctly give 
the word “ Halt.” A pause of silence followed, interrupted 
only by the occasional neighing or pawing of an impatient 
charger. 

“ Whose house is this ? ” said a voice in a tone of authority 
and command. 

“ Milnwood, if it like your honor,” was the reply. 

“ Is the owner well affected ? ” said the inquirer. 

“He complies with the orders of government, and fre- 
quents an indulged minister,” was the response. 

‘ f Hum ! ay ! indulged ! A mere mask for treason, very 
impolitically allowed to those who are too great cowards to 
wear their principles barefaced. Had we not better send up 
a party and search the house in case some of the bloody villains 
concerned in this heathenish butchery may be concealed in 
St?” 

Ere Morton could recover from the alarm into which this 
proposal had thrown him a third speaker rejoined, “I cannot 
think it at all necessary ; Milnwood is an infirm, hypochon- 
driac old man, who never meddles with politics, and loves his 
money-bags and bonds better than anything else in the world. 
His nephew, I hear, was at the wappenschaw to-day, and 

* See Military Music at Night. Note 10. 

42 


OLD MORTALITY 


43 


gained the popinjay, which does not look like a fanatic. I 
should think they are all gone to bed long since, and an alarm 
c this time of night might kill the poor old man.” 

“ Well,” rejoined the leader, “if that be so, to search the 
house would be lost time, of which we have hut little to throw 
away. Gentlemen of the Life Guards, forward. March ! ” 

A few notes on the trumpet, mingled with the occasional 
boom of the kettle-drum to mark the cadence, joined with the 
tramp of hoofs and the clash of arms, announced that the 
troop had resumed its march. The moon broke out as the 
leading files of the column attained a hill up which the road 
winded and showed indistinctly the glittering of the steel 
caps ; and the dark figures of the horses and riders might be 
imperfectly traced through the gloom. They continued to 
advance up the hill and sweep over the top of it in such long 
succession as intimated a considerable numerical force. 

When the last of them had disappeared young Morton re- 
sumed his purpose of visiting his guest. Upon entering the 
place of refuge he found him seated on his humble couch 
with a pocket Bible open in his hand, which he seemed to study 
with intense meditation. His broadsword, which he had un- 
sheathed in the first alarm at the arrival of the dragoons, lay 
naked across his knees, and the little taper that stood beside 
him upon the old chest, which served the purpose of a table, 
threw a partial and imperfect light upon those stern and harsh 
features, in which ferocity was rendered more solemn and dig- 
nified by a wild cast of tragic enthusiasm. His brow was that 
of one in whom some strong overmastering principle has over- 
whelmed all other passions and feelings, like the swell of a 
high spring-tide, when the usual cliffs and breakers vanish 
from the eye, and their existence is only indicated by the chaf- 
ing foam of the waves that burst and wheel over them. He 
raised his head after Morton had contemplated him for about 
a minute. 

“I perceive,” said Morton, looking at his sword, “ that you 
heard the horsemen ride by ; their passage delayed me for some 
minutes.” 

(( I scarcely heeded them,” said Balfour; “my hour is 
not yet come. That I shall one day fall into their hands and 
be honorably associated with the saints whom they have 
slaughtered, I am full well aware. And I would, young 
man, that the hour were come ; it should be as welcome to 
me as ever wedding to bridegroom. But if my Master has 
more work for ine op ^rth X must pot do Ilis kbor grudg- 


44 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


“ Eat and refresh yourself ,” said Morton ; u to-morrow your 
safety requires you should leave this place in order to gain the 
hills so soon as you can see to distinguish the track through 
the morasses.” 

“ Young man,” returned Balfour, “you are already weary 
of me, and would be yet more so, perchance, did you know 
the task upon which I have been lately put. And I wonder 
not that it should be so, for there are times when I am weary 
of myself. Think you not it is a sore trial for flesh and blood 
to be called upon to execute the righteous judgments of Heaven 
while we are yet in the body, and continue to retain that blinded 
sense and sympathy for carnal suffering which makes our own 
flesh thrill when we strike a gash upon the body of another ? 
And think you that when some prime tyrant has been removed 
from his place, that the instruments of his punishment can at 
all times look back on their share in his downfall with firm 
and unshaken nerves ? Must they not sometimes even ques- 
tion the truth of that inspiration which they have felt and 
acted under ? Must they not sometimes doubt the origin of 
that strong impulse with which their prayers for heavenly 
direction under difficulties have been inwardly answered and 
confirmed, and confuse, in their disturbed apprehensions, 
the responses of Truth itself with some strong delusion of the 
enemy ?” 

“ These are subjects, Mr. Balfour, on which I am ill-qual- 
ified to converse with you,” answered Morton ; “ but I own I 
should strongly doubt the origin of any inspiration which 
seemed to dictate a line of conduct contrary to those feelings 
of natural humanity which Heaven has assigned to us as the 
general law of our conduct.” 

Balfour seemed somewhat disturbed, and drew himself 
hastily up, but immediately composed himself and answered 
coolly, “ It is natural you should think so ; you are yet in the 
dungeon-house of the law, a pit darker than that into which 
Jeremiah was plunged, even the dungeon of Malcaiah the son 
of Hamelmelech, where there was no water but mire. Yet is 
the seal of the covenant upon your forehead, and the son of the 
righteous who resisted to blood, where the banner was spread 
on the mountains, shall not be utterly lost as one of the chil- 
dren of darkness. Trow ye that in this day of bitterness and 
calamity nothing is required at our hands but to keep the 
moral law as far as our carnal frailty will permit ? Think ye 
our conquests must be only over our corrupt and evil affec- 
tions and passions ? Ho ; we are called upon, when we have 
girded up our loins, to run the race boldly, and when we have 


OLD MORTALITY 


45 


drawn the sword we are enjoined to- smite the ungodly though 
he be our neighbor, and the man of power and cruelty though 
he were of our own kindred and the friend of our own bosom.” 

“ These are the sentiments,” said Morton, “ that your 
enemies impute to you, and which palliate, if they do not 
vindicate, the cruel measures which the council have di- 
rected against you. They affirm that you pretend to derive 
your rule of action from what you call an inward light, re- 
jecting the restraints of legal magistracy, of national law, and 
even of common humanity, when in opposition to what you 
call the spirit within you.” 

“They do us wrong,” answered the Covenanter; “it is 
they, perjured as they are, who have rejected all law, both 
divine and civil, and who now persecute us for adherence to 
the Solemn League and Covenant between God and the 
kingdom of Scotland, to which all of them, save a few Popish 
malignants, have sworn in former days, yet which they now 
burn in the market-places, and tread under foot in derision. 
When this Charles Stewart returned to these kingdoms, did 
the malignants bring him back ? They had tried it with 
strong hand, but they failed, I trow. Could James Grahame 
of Montrose and his Highland caterans have put him again in 
the place of his father ? I think their heads on the Westport 
told another tale for many a long day. It was the workers of 
the glorious work, the reformers of the beauty of the tabernacle 
that called him again to the high place from which his father 
fell. And what has been our reward ? In the words of the 
prophet, f We looked for peace, but no good came ; and for a 
time of health, and behold trouble. The snorting of his 
horses was heard from Dan ; the whole land trembled at the 
sound of the neighing of his strong ones ; for they are come, 
and have devoured the land and all that is in it/ ” 

“Mr. Balfour,” answered Morton, “I neither undertake 
to subscribe to or refute your complaints against the govern- 
ment. I have endeavored to repay a debt due to the comrade 
of my father by giving you shelter in your distress, but you 
will excuse me from engaging myself either in your cause or 
in controversy. I will leave you to repose, and heartily wish 
it were in my power to render your condition more comfort- 
able.” 

“ But I shall see you, I trust, in the morning ere I de- 
part ? I am not a man whose bowels yearn after kindred 
and friends of this world. When I put my hand to the 
plough I entered into a covenant with my worldly affections 
that I should not look back on the things I left behind me. 


46 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


Yet the son of mine ancient comrade is to me as mine own, 
and I cannot behold him without the deep and firm belief 
that I shall one day see him gird on his sword in the dear 
and precious cause for which his father fought and bled.” 

With a promise on Morton’s part that he would call the 
refugee when it was time for him to pursue his journey, they 
parted for the night. 

Morton retired to a few hours’ rest ; but his imagination, 
disturbed by the events of the day, did not permit him to 
enjoy sound repose. There was a blended vision of horror 
before him, in which his new friend seemed to be a principal 
actor. The fair form of Edith Bellenden also mingled in 
his dream, weeping, and with dishevelled hair, and appear- 
ing to call on him for comfort and assistance which he had 
not in his power to render. He awoke from these unrefreshing 
slumbers with a feverish impulse and a heart which foreboded 
disaster. There was already a tinge of dazzling lustre on the 
verge of the distant hills, and the dawn was abroad in all the 
freshness of a summer morning. 

“ I have slept too long,” he exclaimed to himself, “ and 
must now hasten to forward the journey of this unfortunate 
fugitive.” 

He dressed himself as fast as possible, opened the door of 
the house with as little noise as he could, and hastened to 
the place of refuge occupied by the Covenanter. Morton 
entered on tiptoe, for the determined tone and manner, as 
well as the unusual language and sentiments of this singular 
individual, had struck him with a sensation approaching to 
awe. Balfour was still asleep. A ray of light streamed on 
his uncurtained couch, and showed to Morton the working 
of his harsh features, which seemed agitated by some strong 
internal cause of disturbance. He had not undressed. Both 
his arms were above the bed-cover, the right hand strongly 
clinched, and occasionally making that abortive attempt to 
strike which usually attends dreams of violence ; the left was 
extended, and agitated from time to time by a movement as 
if repulsing some one. The perspiration stood on his brow 
“like bubbles in a late disturbed stream,” and these marks 
of emotion were accompanied with broken words which es- 
caped from him at intervals — “ Thou art taken, Judas — thou 
art taken. Cling not to my knees — cling not to my knees ; 
hew him down ! A priest ! Ay, a priest of Baal, to be bound 
and slain, even at the brook Kishon. Firearms will not pre- 
vail against him, Strike— thrust with the cold irpn— put 


OLD MORTALITY 


47 


him out of pain — put him out of pain, were it hut for the 
sake of his gray hairs. ” 

Much alarmed at the import of these expressions, which 
seemed to burst from him even in sleep with the stern energy 
accompanying the perpetration of some act of violence, Mor- 
ton shook his guest by the shoulder in order to awake him. 
The first words he uttered were, “ Bear me where ye will, I 
will avouch the deed ! ” 

His glance around having then fully awakened him, he at 
once assumed all the stern and gloomy composure of his 
ordinary manner, and throwing himself on his knees before 
speaking to Morton poured forth an ejaculatory prayer for 
the suffering Church of Scotland, entreating that the blood 
of her murdered saints and martyrs might be precious in the 
sight of Heaven, and that the shield of the Almighty might 
be spread over the scattered remnant, who, for His name’s 
sake, were abiders in the wilderness. Vengeance, speedy and 
ample vengeance on the oppressors, was the concluding peti- 
tion of his devotions, which he expressed aloud in strong 
and emphatic language, rendered more impressive by the 
Orientalism of Scripture. 

When he had finished his prayer he arose, and taking 
Morton by the arm, they descended together to the stable, 
where the Wanderer (to give Burley a title which was often 
conferred on his sect) began to make his horse ready to pur- 
sue his journey. When the animal was saddled and bridled, 
Burley requested Morton to walk with him a gun-shot into 
the wood and direct him to the right road for gaining the 
moors. Morton readily complied, and they walked for some 
time in silence under the shade of some fine old trees, pur- 
suing a sort of natural path, which, after passing through 
woodland for about half a mile, led into the bare and wild 
country which extends to the foot of the hills. 

There was little conversation between them, until at length 
Burley suddenly asked Morton, “ Whether the words he had 
spoken over-night had borne fruit in his mind ?” 

Morton answered, “ That he remained of the same opinion 
which he had formerly held, and was determined, at least as 
far and as long as possible, to unite the duties of a good Chris- 
tian with those of a peaceful subject.” 

“In other words,” replied Burley, “you are desirous to 
serve both God and Mammon — to be one day professing the 
truth with your lips, and the next day in arms, at the com- 
mand of carnal and tyrannic author^, to shed the blood of 
those who for the truth have forsaken all things ? Think 


48 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


ye,” lie continued, “ to touch pitch and remain undefiled ? 
to mix in the ranks of malignants, papists, papa-prelatists, lati- 
tudinarians, and scoffers; to partake of their sports, which 
are like the meat offered unto idols ; to hold intercourse, per- 
chance, with their daughters, as the sons of God with the 
daughters of men in the world before the flood. Think you, 
I say, to do all these things and yet remain free from pol- 
lution ? I say unto you that all communication with the 
enemies of the church is the accursed thing which God hateth ! 
Touch not, taste not, handle not ! And grieve not, young 
man, as if you alone were called upon to subdue your carnal 
affections, and renounce the pleasures which are a snare to 
your feet. I say to you, that the son of David hath denounced 
no better lot on the whole generation of mankind.” 

He then mounted his horse, and, turning to Morton, re- 
peated the text of Scripture, “ An heavy yoke was ordained 
for the sons of Adam from the day they go out of their mother's 
womb till the day that they return to the mother of all things, 
from him who is clothed in blue silk and weareth a crown even 
to him who weareth simple linen — wrath, envy, trouble, and 
unquietness, rigor, strife, and fear of death in the time of 
rest. ” 

Having uttered these words he set his horse in motion, and 
soon disappeared among the boughs of the forest. 

“ Farewell, stern enthusiast,” said Morton, looking after 
him ; in some moods of my mind how dangerous would be 
the society of such a companion ! If I am unmoved by his 
zeal for abstract doctrines of faith, or rather for a peculiar 
mode of worship [such was the purport of his reflections], can 
I be a man and a Scotchman, and look with indifference on 
that persecution which has made wise men mad ? Was not 
the cause of freedom, civil and religious, that for which my 
father fought ; and shall I do well to remain inactive or to 
take the part of an oppressive government if there should ap- 
pear any rational prospect of redressing the insufferable wrongs 
to which my miserable countrymen are subjected ? And yet, 
who shall warrant me that these people, rendered wild by per- 
secution, would not, in the hour of victory, be as cruel and as 
intolerant as those by whom they are now hunted down ? 
What degree of moderation or of mercy can be expected from 
this Burley, so distinguished as one of their principal cham- 
pions, and who seems even now to be reeking from some recent 
deed of violence, and to feel stings of remorse which even his en- 
thusiasm cannot altogether stifle ? I am weary of seeing noth- 
ing but violence and fury around me— now assuming the mask 


OLD MORTALITY 


49 


of lawful authority, now taking that of religious zeal. I am sick 
of my country, of myself, of my dependent situation, of my re - 
pressed feelings, of these woods, of that river, of that house, 
of all but Edith, and she can never be mine ! Why should 
I haunt her walks ? Why encourage my own delusion, and 
perhaps hers ? She can never be mine. Her grandmother's 
pride, the opposite principles of our families, my wretched 
state of dependence — a poor miserable slave, for I have not 
even the wages of a servant ; all circumstances give the lie to 
the vain hope that we can ever be united. Why then protract 
a delusion so painful ? 

“ But I am no slave," he said aloud, and drawing himseli 
up to his full stature — “no slave in one respect surely. I can 
change my abode, my father’s sword is mine, and Europe lies 
open before me as before him and hundreds besides of my 
countrymen who have filled it with the fame of their exploits. 
Perhaps some lucky chance may raise me to a rank with our 
Kuthvens, our Lesleys, our Monros, the chosen leaders of the 
famous Protestant champion, Gustavus Adolphus, or if not, 
a soldier's life or a soldier's grave." 

When he had formed this determination he found himself 
near the door of his uncle's house, and resolved to lose no 
time in making him acquainted with it. 

“Another glance of Edith's eye, another walk by Edith's 
side, and my resolution would melt away. I will take an 
irrevocable step, therefore, and then see her for the last 
time." 

In this mood he entered the wainscotted parlor, in which 
his uncle was already placed at his morning's refreshment, a 
huge plate of oatmeal porridge, with a corresponding allow- 
ance of buttermilk. The favorite housekeeper was in at- 
tendance, half standing, half resting on the back of a chair, 
in a posture betwixt freedom and respect. The old gentle- 
man had been remarkably tall in his earlier days, an advan- 
tage which he now lost by stooping to such a degree that at a 
meeting, where there was some dispute concerning the sort of 
arch which should be thrown over a considerable brook, a 
facetious neighbor proposed to offer Milnwood a handsome 
sum for his curved backbone, alleging that he would sell 
anything that belonged to him. Splay feet of unusual size, 
long thin hands garnished with nails which seldom felt the 
steel, a wrinkled and puckered visage, the length of which 
corresponded with that of his person, together with a pair of 
little sharp bargain-making gray eyes that seemed eternally 
looking out for their advantage, completed the highly un- 


50 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


promising exterior of Mr. Morton of Milnwood. As it would 
have been very injudicious to have lodged a liberal or benevo- 
lent disposition in such an unworthy cabinet, nature had 
suited his person with a mind exactly in conformity with it — 
that is to say, mean, selfish, and covetous. 

When this amiable personage was aware of the presence of 
his nephew he hastened, before addressing him, to swallow 
the spoonful of porridge which he was in the act of conveying 
to his mouth, and as it chanced to be scalding hot, the pain 
occasioned by its descent down his throat and into his stomach 
inflamed the ill-humor with which he was already prepared to 
meet his kinsman. 

“ The deil take them that made them ! " was his first ejac- 
ulation, apostrophizing his mess of porridge. 

“They're gude parritch eneugh," said Mrs. Wilson, “if 
ye wad but take time to sup them. I made them mysell ; but 
if folk winna hae patience they should get their thrapples 
causewayed." 

“ Haud your peace, Alison ! I was speaking to my nevoy. 
How is this, sir ? And what sort o' scampering gates are these 
o' going on ? Ye were not at hame last night till near mid- 
night." 

“ Thereabouts, sir, I believe," answered Morton, in an in- 
different tone. 

“ Thereabouts, sir ! What sort of an answer is that, sir ? 
Why came ye na hame when other folk left the grund ? " 

“ I suppose you know the reason very well, sir," said Mor- 
ton : “ I had the fortune to be the best marksman of the day, 
and remained, as is usual, to give some little entertainment 
to the other young men." 

“ The deevil ye did, sir ! And ye come to tell me that to 
my face ? You pretend to gie entertainments that canna come 
by a dinner except by sorning on a caref u' man like me ? But 
if ye put me to charges I'se work it out o' ye. I seena why 
ye shouldna haud the pleugh now that the pleughman has 
left us ; it wad set ye better than wearing thae green duds 
and wasting your siller on powther and lead ; it wad put ye 
in an honest calling, and wad keep ye in bread without be- 
ing behadden to ony ane." 

“Iam very ambitious of learning such a calling, sir, but 
I don't understand driving the plough." 

“And what for no ? It's easier than your gunning and 
archery that ye like sae weel. Auld Davie is ca'ing it e'en 
now, and ye may be goadsman for the first twa or three days ; 
and tak tent ye dinna o'erdrive the owsen, and then ye will 


OLD MORTALITY 


51 


be fit to gang between the stilts. Ye’ll ne’er learn younger. 
I’ll be your caution. Haggie Holm is heavy land, and Davie 
is ower auld to keep the coulter down now.” 

“ I beg pardon for interrupting you, sir, but I have formed 
a scheme for myself which will have the same effect of reliev- 
ing you of the burden and charge attending my company.” 

“ Ay ! Indeed ! a scheme o’ yours ! that must be a denty 
ane ! ” said the uncle, with a very peculiar sneer. “ Let’s hear 
about it, lad.” 

“ It is said in two words, sir. I intend to leave this coun- 
try and serve abroad as my father did before these unhappy 
troubles broke out at home. His name will not be so entirely 
forgotten in the countries where he served but that it will 
procure his son at least the Opportunity of trying his fortune 
as a soldier.” 

“ Gude be gracious to us !” exclaimed the housekeeper; 
“ our young Mr. Harry gang abroad ? Na, na ! eh, na ! that 
maun never be.” 

Milnwood, entertaining no thought or purpose of parting 
with his nephew, who was, moreover, very useful to him in 
many respects, was thunderstruck at this abrupt declaration 
of independence from a person whose deference to him had 
hitherto been unlimited. He recovered himself, however, im- 
mediately. 

“ And wha do you think is to give you the means, young 
man, for such a wild-goose chase ? Not I, I am sure. I can 
hardly support you at hame. And ye wad be marrying, I’se 
warrant, as your father did afore ye, too, and sending your uncle 
hame a pack o’ weans to be fighting and skirling through the 
house in my auld days, and to take wing and flee aff like 
yoursell whenever they were asked to serve a turn about the 
town ? ” 

“ I have no thoughts of ever marrying,” answered Henry. 

“Hear till him now !” said the housekeeper. “It’s a 
shame to hear a douce young lad speak in that way, since a’ 
the warld kens that they maun either marry or do waur.” 

“ Ilaud your peace, Alison,” said her master ; “ and you, 
Harry (he added more mildly), put this nonsense out o’ your 
head. This comes o’ letting ye gang a-sodgering for a day ; 
mind, ye hae nae siller, lad, for ony sic nonsense plans.” 

“ I beg you pardon, sir, my wants shall be very few ; and 
would you please to give me the gold chain which the mar- 
grave gave to my father after the battle of Lutzen ” 

“Mercy on us! the gowd chain!" exclaimed his uncle. 


52 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


“ The chain of gowd ! ” re-echoed the housekeeper — both 
aghast with astonishment at the audacity of the proposal. 

“ I will keep a few links, to remind me of him by whom 
it was won, and the place where he won it,” continued Mor- 
ton ; “the rest shall furnish me the means of following the 
same career in which my father obtained that mark of dis- 
tinction.” 

“ Mercifu’ powers ! ” exclaimed the governante, “ my mas- 
ter wears it every Sunday.” 

“ Sunday and Saturday,” added old Milnwood, “ when- 
ever I put on my black velvet coat ; and Wylie Mactrickit is 
partly of opinion it’s a kind of heirloom that rather belangs to 
the head of the house than to the immediate descendant. It 
has three thousand links ; I have counted them a thousand 
times. It's worth three hundred pounds sterling.” 

“ That is more than I want, sir ; if you choose to give me 
the third part of the money and five links of the chain it 
will amply serve my purpose, and the rest will be some slight 
atonement for the expense and trouble I have put you to.” 

“ The laddie’s in a creel ! ” exclaimed his uncle. “0, sirs, 
what will become o’ the rigs o’ Milnwood when I am dead and 
gane ! He would fling the crown of Scotland awa if he had 
it.” 

“ Hout, sir,” said the old housekeeper, “ I maun e’en say 
it’s partly your ain faut. Ye maunna curb his head ower 
sair in neither ; and, to be sure, since he has gane doun to 
the Howff, ye maun just e’en pay the lawing.” 

“If it be not abune twa dollars, Alison,” said the old 
gentleman, very reluctantly. 

“I’ll settle it mysell wi’ Niel Blane the first time I gang 
down to theclachan,” said Alison, “ cheaper than your honor 
or Mr. Harry can do ; ” and then whispered to Henry, 
“ Dinna vex him ony mair ; I’ll pay the lave out o’ the but- 
ter siller, and nae mair words about it.” Then proceeding 
aloud, “And ye maunna speak o’ the young gentleman 
handing the pleugh ; there’s puir distressed Whigs enow 
about the country will be glad tu do that for a bite and a soup ; 
it sets them far better than the like o’ him.” 

“And then we’ll hae the dragoons on us,” said Milnwood, 
“ for comforting and entertaining intercommuned rebels ; a 
bonny strait ye wad put us in ! But take your breakfast, 
Harry, and then lay by your new green coat and put on 
your raploch-gray, it’s a mair mensfu’ and thrifty dress, and 
a mair seemly sight than thae dangling slops and ribbands.” 

Morton left the room, perceiving plainly that he had at 


OLD MORTALITY 


53 


present no chance of gaining his purpose, and perhaps not 
altogether displeased at the obstacles which seemed to present 
themselves to his leaving the neighborhood of Tillietudlem. 
The housekeeper followed him into the next room, patting 
him on the back and bidding him “ be a gude bairn and pit 
by his braw things.” 

“And Fll loop doun your hat and lay by the band and rib- 
band,” said the officious dame; “and ye maun never at no 
hand speak o' leaving the land or of selling the gowd chain, 
for your uncle has an unco pleasure in looking on you, and 
in counting the links of the chainzie ; and ye ken auld folk 
canna last forever, sae the chain and the lands and a * will 
be your ain ae day ; and ye may marry ony leddy in the coun- 
try-side ye like, and keep a braw house at Milnwood, for 
there's enow o' means ; and is not that worth waiting for, my 
dow ? ” 

There was something in the latter part of the prognostic 
which sounded so agreeably in the ears of Morton that he 
shook the old dame cordially by the hand, and assured her 
he was much obliged by her good advice, and would weigh it 
carefully before he proceeded to act upon his former resolu- 
tion. 


CHAPTER VII 


From seventeen years till now, almost fourscore. 

Here lived I, but now live here no more. 

At seventeen years many their fortunes seek, 

But at fourscore it is too late a week. 

As You Like It . 

We must conduct our readers to the Tower of Tillietudlem, 
to which Lady Margaret Bellenden had returned, in romantic 
phrase, malcontent and full of heaviness at the unexpected, 
and, as she deemed it, indelible affront which had been brought 
upon her dignity by the public miscarriage of Goose Gibbie. 
That unfortunate man-at-arms was forthwith commanded to 
drive his feathered charge to the most remote parts of the 
common moor, and on no account to awaken the grief or re- 
sentment of his lady by appearing in her presence while the 
sense of the affront was yet recent. 

The next proceeding of Lady Margaret was to hold a 
solemn court of justice, to which Harrison and the butler were 
admitted, partly on the footing of witnesses, partly as assess- 
ors, to inquire into the recusancy of Cuddie Headrigg the 
ploughman, and the abetment which he had received from 
his mother — these being regarded as the original causes of the 
disaster which had befallen the chivalry of Tillietudlem. 
The charge being fully made out and substantiated, Lady Mar- 
garet resolved to reprimand the culprits in person, and, if she 
found them impenitent, to extend the censure into a sentence 
of expulsion from the barony. Miss Bellenden alone ven- 
tured to say anything in behalf of the accused ; but her 
countenance did not profit them, as it might have done on any 
other occasion. For so soon as Edith had heard it ascertained 
that the unfortunate cavalier had not suffered in his person, 
his disaster had affected her with an irresistible disposition 
to laugh, which, in spite of Lady Margaret's indignation, or 
rather irritated, as usual, by restraint, had broken out repeat- 
edly on her return homeward, until her grandmother, in no 
shape imposed upon by the several fictitious causes which the 
young lady assigned for her ill-timed risibility, upbraided her 
m very bitter terms witli being insensible to the honor of her 

& 


OLD MORTALITY 


55 


family. Miss Bellenden’s intercession, therefore, had on this 
occasion little or no chance to he listened to. 

As if to evince the rigor of her disposition. Lady Mar- 
garet on this solemn occasion exchanged the ivory-headed cane 
with which she commonly walked for an immense gold- 
headed staff which had belonged to her father, the deceased 
Earl of Torwood, and which, like a sort of mace of office, 
she only made use of on occasions of special solemnity. Sup- 
ported by this awful baton of command. Lady Margaret Bel- 
lenden entered the cottage of the delinquents. 

There was an air of consciousness about old Mause as she 
rose from her wicker chair in the chimney-nook, not with 
the cordial alertness of visage which used on other occasions 
to express the honor she felt in the visit of her lady, but with 
a certain solemnity and embarrassment, like an accused party 
on his first appearance in presence of his judge, before whom 
he is nevertheless determined to assert his innocence. Her 
arms were folded, her mouth primmed into an expression of 
respect mingled with obstinacy, her whole mind apparently 
bent up to the solemn interview. With her best courtesy to 
the ground, and a mute motion of reverence, Mause pointed 
to the chair which on former occasions Lady Margaret (for 
the good lady was somewhat of a gossip) had deigned to 
occupy for half an hour sometimes at a time, hearing the news 
of the county and of the borough. 

But at present her mistress was far too indignant for such 
condescension. She rejected the mute invitation with a 
haughty wave of her hand, and, drawing herself up as she 
spoke, she uttered the following interrogatory in a tone cal- 
culated to overwhelm the culprit. “Is it true, Mause, as I 
am informed by Harrison, Gudyill, and others of my people, 
that you hae taen it upon you, contrary to the faith you owe 
to God and the king and to me, your natural lady and mis- 
tress, to keep back your son frae the wappenschaw, held by 
the order of the sheriff, and to return his armor and abulyie- 
ments at a moment when it was impossible to find a suitable 
delegate in his stead, whereby the barony of Tillietudlem, 
baith in the person of its mistress and indwellers, has in- 
curred sic a disgrace and dishonor as hasna befa’en the family 
since the days of Malcolm Canmore ? 99 

Mausers "habitual respect for her mistress was extreme ; 
she hesitated, and one or two short coughs expressed the dif- 
ficulty she had in defending herself. “ I am sure, my leddy 
—hem, hem ! I am sure I am sorry, very sorry, that ony 


56 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


cause of displeasure should hae occurred : but my son’s ill- 
ness ” 

“ Dinna tell me of your son’s illness. Manse ! Had lie been 
sincerely unweel, ye would hae been at the Tower by daylight 
to get something that wad do him gude ; there are few ail- 
ments that I havena medical recipes for, and that ye ken fu’ 
weel.” 

“ 0 ay, my leddy ! I am sure ye hae wrought wonderful 
cures ; the last thing ye sent Cuddie, when he had the batts, 
e’en wrought like a charm.” 

“ Why, then, woman, did ye not apply to me, if there was 
ony real need ? But there was none, ye fause-hearted vassal 
that ye are ! ” 

“ Your leddyship never ca’d me sic a word as that before. 
Olion ! that I suldlive to be ca’dsae,” she continued, bursting 
into tears, “ and me a born servant o’ the house o’ Tillietudlem ! 
I am sure they belie baith Cuddie and me sair, if they said he 
waina fight ower the boots in bluid for your leddyship and Miss 
E lith and the auld Tower — ay suld he, and I would rather see 
him buried beneath it than he suld gie way ; but thir ridings 
and wappenschawings, my leddy, I hae nae broo o’ them ava. 
I can find nae warrant for them whatsoever.” 

“ Hae warrant for them ! ” cried the high-born dame. “ Do 
ye na ken, woman, that ye are bound to be liege vassals in all 
hunting, hosting, watching and warding, when lawfully sum- 
moned thereto in my name ? Your service is not gratuitous. 
I trow ye hae land for it. Ye’re kindly tenants, hae a cot- 
house, a kale-yard, and a cow’s grass on the common. Few 
hae been brought farther ben, and ye grudge your son suld 
gie me a day’s service in the field ? ” 

“Ha, my leddy — na, my leddy, it’s no that !” exclaimed 
Mause, greatly embarrassed, “ but ane canna serve twa maisters; 
and, if the truth maun e’en come out, there’s Aneabune whase 
commands I maun obey before your leddyship’s. Iam sure I 
would put neither king’s nor kaisar’s nor ony earthly creature’s 
afore them.” 

“ How mean ye by that, ye auld fule woman ? D’ye think 
that I order onything against conscience ? ” 

“ I dinna pretend to say that, my leddy, in regard o’ your 
leddyship’s conscience, which has been brought up, as it were, 
wi’ prelatic principles; but ilka ane maun walk by the light 
o’ their ain, and mine,” said Mause, waxing bolder as the 
conference became animated, “ tells me that I suld leave a’ — 
cot, kale-yard, and cow’s grass — and suffer a’, rather than that 
I or mine should put on harness in an unlawfu’ cause.” 


OLD MORTALITY 


57 


“ Unlawfu' ! " exclaimed her mistress ; “ the cause to which 
you are called by your lawful leddy and mistress, by the com- 
mand of the king, by the writ of the privy council, by the 
order of the lord-lieutenant, by the warrant of the sheriff ! " 

“Ay, my leddy, nae doubt ; but, no to displeasure your 
leddyship, ye'll mind that there was ance a king in Scripture 
they ca'd Nebuchadnezzar, and he set up a golden image in 
the plain o' Dura, as it might be in the haugh yonder by the 
water-side, where the array were warned to meet yesterday, 
and the princes, and the governors, and the captains, and the 
judges themsells, forbye the treasurers, the counsellors, and 
the sheriffs, were warned to the dedication thereof, and com- 
manded to fall down and worship at the sound of the cornet, 
flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, and all kinds of music." 

“And what o' a' this, ye fule wife ? Or what had Nebu- 
chadnezzar to do with the wappenschaw of the Upper Ward 
of Clydesdale ?" 

“Only just thus far, my leddy," continued Mause, firmly, 
“ that prelacy is like the great golden image in the plain of 
Dura, and that as Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were 
borne out in refusing to bow down and worship, so neither 
shall Cuddie Headrigg, your leddyship's poor pleughman, at 
least wi' his auld mither's consent, make murgeons or jenny- 
flections, as they ca' them, in the house of the prelates and 
curates, nor gird him wi' armor to fight in their cause, either 
at the sound of kettle-drums, organs, bagpipes, or ony other 
kind of music whatever." 

Lady Margaret Bellenden heard this exposition of Scrip- 
ture with the greatest possible indignation as well as surprise. 

“I see which way the windblaws," she exclaimed, after a 
pause of astonishment ; “the vile spirit of the year 1642 is at 
wark again as merrily as ever, and ilka auld wife in the chim- 
ley-neuk will be for knapping doctrine wi' doctors o' divinity 
and the godly fathers o' the church." 

“ If your leddyship means the bishops and curates, I'm sure 
they hae been but stepfathers to the Kirk o’ Scotland. And 
since your leddyship is pleased to speak o' parting wi' us, I 
am free to tell you a piece o' my mind in another article. 
Your leddyship and the steward hae been pleased to propose 
that my son Cuddie suld work in the barn wi' a newfangled 
machine* for dighting the corn frae the chaff, thus impiously 
thwarting the will of Divine Providence by raising wind for 
your leddyship's ain particular use by human art, instead of 
soliciting it by prayer, or waiting patiently for whatever dis- 

* See Winnowing Machine. Note 11. 


58 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


pensation of wind Providence was pleased to send upon the 
sheeting-hill. Now, my leddy " 

“ The woman would drive ony reasonable being daft ! " 
said Lady Margaret ; then resuming her tone of authority and 
indifference, she concluded, “ Weel, Mause, I'll just end where 
I suld hae begun. Ye're ower learned and ower godly forme 
to dispute wi' ; sae I have just this to say — either Cuddie must 
attend musters when he's lawfully warned by the ground- 
officer, or the sooner he and you flit and quit my bounds the 
better. There's nae scarcity o' auld wives or ploughmen ; but 
if there were, I had rather that the rigs of Tillietudlem bare 
naething but windlestraes and sandy lavrocks than that they 
were ploughed by rebels to the king." 

“ Aweel, my leddy," said Mause, “I was born here, and 
thought to die where my father died ; and your leddyship has 
been a kind mistress. I'll ne'er deny that, and I'se ne'er cease 
to pray for you and for Miss Edith, and that ye may be brought 
to see the error of your ways. But still " 

“ The error of my ways ! " interrupted Lady Margaret, 
much incensed — <f the error of my ways, ye uncivil woman ! " 

“ Ou, ay, my leddy, we are blinded that live in this valley 
of tears and darkness, and hae a' ower mony errors, grit folks 
as weel as sma' ; but, as I said, my puir bennison will rest wP 
you and yours wherever I am. I will be wae to hear o' your 
affliction and blithe to hear o' your prosperity, temporal and 
spiritual. But I canna prefer the commands of an earthly 
mistress to those of a Heavenly Master, and sae I am e'en 
ready to suffer for righteousness' sake." 

“ It is very well," said Lady Margaret, turning her back 
in great displeasure ; “ye ken my will, Mause, in the matter. 
I'll hae nae Whiggery in the barony of Tillietudlem ; the next 
thing wad be to set up a conventicle in my very withdra wing- 
room." 

Having said this she departed with an air of great dignity ; 
and Mause, giving way to feelings which she had suppressed 
during the interview — for she, like her mistress, had her own 
feeling of pride — now lifted up her voice and wept aloud. 

Cuddie, whose malady, real or pretended, still detained him 
in bed, lay perdue during all this conference, snugly ensconced 
within his boarded bedstead, and terrified to death lest Lady 
Margaret, whom he held in hereditary reverence, should have 
detected his presence and bestowed on him personally some of 
those bitter reproaches with which she loaded his mother. 
But as soon as he thought her ladyship fairly out of hearing 
he bounced up in his nest. 


OLD MORTALITY 


59 


u The foul fa’ ye, that I suld say sae,” he cried out to his 
mother, “ for a lang-tongued clavering wife, as my father, 
honest man, aye ca’d ye ! Oonldna ye let the leddy alane wi’ 
your Whiggery ? And I was e’en as great a gomeral to let ye 
persuade me to lie up here amang the blankets like a hurcheon 
instead o’ gaun to the wappenschawlike other folk. Odd, but 
I put a trick on ye, for I was out at the window-bole when 
your auld back was turned, and awa down by to hae a ball at 
the popinjay, and I shot within twa on’t. I cheated the leddy 
for your clavers, but I wasna gaun to cheat my jo. But she 
may marry whae she likes now, for I’m clean dung ower. This 
is a waur dirdum than we got frae Mr. Gudyill when ye garr’d 
me refuse to eat the plum-porridge on Yule Eve, as if it were 
ony matter to God or man whether a pleughman had suppit 
on minched pies or sour sowens.” 

“ 0, whisht, my bairn, whisht,” replied Mause ; “thou 
kensna about thae things. It was forbidden meat, things 
dedicated to set days and holidays, which are inhibited to the 
use of Protestant Christians.” 

“ And now,” continued her son, “ye hae brought the leddy 
hersell on our hands ! An I could but hae gotten some decent 
claes in, I wad hae spanged out o’ bed and tauld her I wad 
ride where she liked, night or day, an she wad but leave us 
the free house and the yaird, that grew the best early kale in 
the haill country, and the cow’s grass.” 

“ 0 wow ! my winsome bairn, Cuddie,” continued the old 
dame, “ murmur not at the dispensation ; never grudge suf- 
fering in the gude cause.” 

“ But what ken I if the cause is gude or no, mither,” re- 
joined Cuddie, “ for a’ ye bleeze out sae muckle doctrine about 
it ? It’s clean beyond my comprehension a’thegither. I see 
nae sae muckle difference atween the twa ways o’t as a’ the 
folk pretend. It’s very true the curates read aye the same 
words ower again ; and if they be right words, what for no ? 
A gude tale’s no the waur o’ being twice tauld, I trow ; and 
a body has aye the better chance to understand it. Every- 
body’s no sae gleg at the uptake as ye are yoursell, mither.” 

“ 0, my dear Cuddie, this is the sairest distress of a’,” said 
the anxious mother. “ 0, how aften have I shown ye the 
difference between a pure evangelical doctrine and ane that’s 
corrupt wi’ human inventions ? 0, my bairn, if no for your 

ain saul’s sake, yet for my gray hairs ” 

“Weel, mither,” said Cuddie, interrupting her, “what 
need ye mak sae muckle din about it ? I hae aye dune what- 
e’er ye bade me, and gaed to kirk whare’er ye likit on the 


66 


WaVERLEY novels 


Sundays, and fended weel for ye in the ilka days besides. 
And that’s what vexes me mair than a’ the rest, when 1 think 
how I am to fend for ye now in thae brickie times. I am no 
clear if I can pleugh ony place but the mains and Muckle- 
whame, at least I never tried ony other grund, and it wadna 
come natural to me. And nae neighboring heritors will daur 
to take us after being turned alf thae bounds for non-enor- 
mity.” 

“Non-conformity, hinnie,” sighed Mause, “is the name 
that thae warldly men gie us.” 

“ Weel, aweel, we’ll liae to gang to a far country, maybe 
twall or fifteen miles aff. I could be a dragoon, nae doubt, for 
I can ride and play wi’ the broadsword a bit, but ye wad be 
roaring about your blessing and your gray hairs.” Here 
Mause’s exclamations became extreme. “ Weel, weel, I but 
spoke o’t ; besides, ye’re ower auld to be sitting cocked up on 
a baggage-wagon wi’ Eppie Dumblane, the corporal’s wife. 
Sae what’s to come o’ us I canna weel see. I doubt I’ll liae to 
tak the hills wi’ the wild Whigs, as they ca’ them, and then it 
will be my lot to be shot down like a mawkin at some dike-side, 
or to be sent to heaven wi’ a Saint Johnstone’s tippit about 
my hause.” 

“0, my bonnie Cuddie,” said the zealous Mause, “for- 
bear sic carnal, self-seeking language, whilk is just a mis- 
doubting o’ Providence. I have not seen the son of the right- 
eous begging his bread, sae says the text ; and your father 
was a douce, honest man, though somewhat warldly in his 
dealings, and cumbered about earthly things, e’en like your- 
sell, my jo ! ” 

“Aweel,” said Cuddie, after a little consideration, “I see 
but ae gate for’t, and that’s a cauld coal to blaw at, mither. 
Howsomever, mither, ye hae some guess o’ a wee bit kindness 
that’s atween Miss Edith and young Mr. Henry Morton, that 
suld be ca’d young Milnwood, and that I hae whiles carried a 
bit book, or maybe a bit letter, quietly atween them, and made 
believe never to ken whait cam frae, though I kenn’d brawly. 
There’s whiles convenience in a body looking a wee stupid ; and 
I have aften seen them walking at e’en on the little path by 
Dinglewood burn ; but naehody ever kenn’d a word about it 
frae Cuddie. I ken I’m gay thick in the head ; but I’m as 
honest as our auld fore-hand ox, puir fallow, that I’ll ne’er work 
ony mair. I hope they’ll be as kind to him that come ahint me 
as I hae been. But, as I was saying, we’ll awa down to Miln- 
wood and tell Mr. Harry our distress. They want a pleugh- 
mar;, and the grund’s no unlike our ain. I am sure Mr. 


OLD MORTALITY 


61 

Harry will stand my part, for he’s a kind-hearted gentleman. 
I’ll get hut little penny-fee, for his uncle, auld Nippie Miln- 
wood, has as close a grip as the deil liimsell. But we’ll aye 
win a bit bread and a drap kale, and a fireside and theekiug 
ower our heads, and that’s a’ we’ll want for a season. Sae 
get up, mither, and sort your things to gang away ; for since 
sae it is that gang we maun, I wad like ill to wait till Mr. 
Harrison and auld Gudyill cam to pu’ us out by the lug and 
the horn.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


The devil a puritan, or anything else he is, but a time-server. 

Twelfth Night. 

It was evening when Mr. Henry Morton perceived an old 
woman wrapped in her tartan plaid, supported by a stout, 
stupid-looking fellow in hodden-gray, approach the house of 
Milnwood. Old Mause made her courtesy, but Cuddie took 
the lead in addressing Morton. Indeed, he had previously 
stipulated with his mother that he was to manage matters his 
own way ; for though he readily allowed his general inferi- 
ority of understanding, and. filially submitted to the guidance 
of his mother on most ordinary occasions, yet he said, “ For 
getting a service or getting forward in the warld he could 
somegate gar the wee pickle sense he had gang muckle far- 
ther than hers, though she could crack like ony minister o’ 
them a ’.” 

Accordingly, he thus opened the conversation with young 
Morton . “ A braw night this for the rye, your honor ; the 
west park will be breering bravely this e’en.” 

“I do not doubt it, Cuddie ; but what can have brought 
your mother — this is your mother, is it not ? [Cuddie nod- 
ded] — what can have brought your mother and you down the 
water so late ? ” 

“ Troth, stir, just what gars the auld wives trot — neshes- 
sity, stir. I’m seeking for service, stir.” 

“ For service, Cuddie, and at this time of the year ? how 
comes that ? ” 

Mause could forbear no longer. Proud alike of her cause 
and her sufferings, she commenced with an affected humility 
of tone, “ It has pleased Heaven, an it like your honor, to 
distinguish us by a visitation ” 

“ Heil’s in the wife and nae gude ! ” whispered Cuddie to 
his mother, “ an ye come out wi’ your Whiggery they’ll no 
daur open a door to us through the haill country ! ” Then 
aloud and addressing Morton, “ My mother’s auld, stir, and 
she has rather forgotten hersell in speaking to my leddy, that 

63 


OLD MORTALITY 


63 


canna wee! bide to be contradickit — as I ken naebody likes it 
if they could help themsells — especially by her ain folk ; and 
Mr. Harrison the steward, and Gudyill the butler, they’re no 
very fond o’ us, and it’s ill sitting at Eome and striving wi’ 
the Pope. Sae I thought it best to flit before ill came to 
waur ; and here’s a wee bit line to your honor frae a friend 
will maybe say some mair about it.” 

Morton took the billet, and, crimsoning up to the ears be- 
tween joy and surprise, read these words : “If you can serve 
these poor helpless people, you will oblige E. B.” 

It was a few instants before he could attain composure 
enough to ask, “ And what is your object, Cuddie ? and how 
can I be of use to you ?” 

“ Wark, stir, wark and a service is my object, a bit beild 
for my mither and mysell ; we hae gude plenishing o’ our ain, 
if we had the cast o’ a cart to bring it down, and milk and 
meal and greens enow, for I’m gay gleg at meal-time, and sae 
is my mither, lang may it be sae ! And for the penny-fee and 
a’ that I’ll just leave it to the laird and you. I ken ye’ll no 
see a poor lad wranged if ye can help it.” 

Morton shook his head. “ For the meat and lodging, 
Cuddie, I think I can promise something ; but the penny-fee 
will be a hard chapter, I doubt.” 

“ I’ll take my chance o’t, stir,” replied the candidate for 
service, “ rather than gang down about Hamilton or ony sic 
far country.” 

“Well, step into the kitchen, Cuddie, and I’ll do what I 
can for you.” 

The negotiation was not without difficulties. Morton had 
first to bring over the housekeeper, who made a thousand 
objections, as usual, in order to have the pleasure of being be- 
sought and entreated ; but when she was gained over, it was 
comparatively easy to induce old Milnwood to accept of a 
servant whose wages were to be in his own option. An out- 
house was therefore assigned to Mause and her son for their 
habitation, and it was settled that they were for the time to 
be admitted to eat of the frugal fare provided for the family, 
until their own establishment should be completed. As for 
Morton, he exhausted his own very slender stock of money in 
order to make Cuddie such a present, under the name of 
“arles,” as might show his sense of the value of the recom- 
mendation delivered to him. 

“ And now we’re settled ance mair,” said Cuddie to his 
mother, “and if we’re nosaebien and comfortable as we were 
up yonder, yet life’s life ony gate, and we’re wi’ decent kirk- 


64 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


ganging folk o’ your ain persuasion, mither ; there will be nae 
quarrelling about that.” 

“Of my persuasion, hinnie !” said the too-enlightened 
Mause ; “ wae’s me for thy blindness and theirs. 0, Cuddie, 
they are but in the court of the Gentiles, and will ne’er win 
farther ben, I doubt ; they are but little better than the Prel- 
atists themsells. They wait on the ministry of that blinded 
man, Peter Poundtext, ance a precious teacher of the Word, 
but now a backsliding pastor that has, for the sake of stipend 
and family maintenance, forsaken the strict path and gane 
astray after the Black Indulgence. 0, my son, had ye but 
profited by the gospel doctrines ye hae heard in the Glen of 
Bengonnar frae the dear Richard Rumbleberry, that sweet 
youth who suffered martyrdom in the Grassmarket afore 
Candlemas ! Didna ye hear him say that Erastianism was 
as bad as Prelacy, and that the Indulgence was as bad as 
Erastianism ? ” 

“ Heard ever onybody the like o’ this ! ” interrupted Cud- 
die. “ We’ll be driven out o’ house and ha’ again afore we 
ken where to turn oursells. Weel, mither, I hae just ae word 
mair. An I hear ony mair o’ your din — afore folk, that is, 
for I dinna mind your clavers mysell, they aye set me sleep- 
ing — but if I hear ony mair din afore folk, as I was say- 
ing, about Poundtexts and Rumbleberries, and doctrines and 
inalignants, I’se e’en turn a single sodger mysell, or maybe a 
sergeant or a captain, if ye plague me the mair, and let 
Rumbleberry and you gang to the deil thegitlier. I ne’er 
gat ony gude by his doctrine, as ye ca’t, but a sour fit o’ the 
batts wi’ sitting amang the wat moss-hags for four hours at a 
yoking, and the leddy cured me wi’ some hickery-pickery ; 
mair by token, an she had kenn’d how I came by the dis- 
order, she wadna hae been in sic a hurry to mend it.” 

Although groaning in spirit over the obdurate and impen- 
itent state, as she thought it, of her son Cuddie, Mause durst 
neither urge him further on the topic, nor altogether neglect 
the warning he had given her. She knew the disposition of 
her deceased helpmate, whom this surviving pledge of their 
union greatly resembled, and remembered that, although sub- 
mitting implicitly in most things to her boast of superior 
acuteness, he used on certain occasions, when driven to ex- 
tremity, to be seized with fits of obstinacy, which neither 
remonstrance, flattery, nor threats were capable of overpow- 
ering. Trembling, therefore, at the very possibility of Cud- 
die’s fulfilling his threat, she put a guard over her tongue, 
and even when Poundtext was commended in her presence as 


OLD MORTALITY 


65 


an able and fructifying preacher, she had the good sense to 
suppress the contradiction which thrilled upon her tongue, 
and to express her sentiments no otherwise than by deep 
groans, which the hearers charitably construed to flow from 
a vivid recollection of the more pathetic parts of his homilies. 
How long she could have repressed her feelings it is difficult 
to say. An unexpected accident relieved her from the ne- 
cessity. 

The Laird of Milnwood kept up all old fashions which 
were connected with economy. It was therefore still the cus- 
tom in his house, as it had been universal in Scotland about 
fifty years before, that the domestics, after having placed the 
dinner on the table, sat down at the lower end of the board 
and partook of the share which was assigned to them in com- 
pany with their masters. On the day, therefore, after Cud- 
die's arrival, being the third from the opening of this narra- 
tive, old Robin, who was butler, valet-de-chambre, footman, 
gardener, and what not, in the house of Milnwood, placed on 
the table an immense charger of broth thickened with oat- 
meal and colewort, in which ocean of liquid were indistinctly 
discovered by close observers two or three short ribs of lean 
mutton sailing to and fro. Two huge baskets, one of bread 
made of barley and pease and one of oat-cakes, flanked this 
standing dish. A large boiled salmon would nowadays have 
indicated more liberal housekeeping; but at that period 
salmon was caught in such plenty in the considerable rivers 
in Scotland that, instead of being accounted a delicacy, it 
was generally applied to feed the servants, who are said some- 
times to have stipulated that they should not be required to 
eat a food so luscious and surfeiting in its quality above five 
times a week. The large black-jack, filled with very small 
beer of Milnwood's own brewing, was allowed to the company 
at discretion, as were the bannocks, cakes, and broth ; but the 
mutton was reserved for the heads of the family, Mrs. Wilson 
included ; and a measure of ale, somewhat deserving the 
name, was set apart in a silver tankard for their exclusive 
use. A huge kebbock — a cheese, that is, made with ewe-milk 
mixed with cow's milk — and a jar of salt butter were in com- 
mon to the company. 

To enjoy this exquisite cheer was placed at the head of 
the table the old Laird himself, with his nephew on the one 
side and the favorite housekeeper on the other. At a long 
interval, and beneath the salt, of course, sat old Robin, a 
meagre, half-starved serving-man, rendered cross and cripple 
by rheumatism, and a dirty drab of a housemaid, whom 


66 


WAVE RLE Y NOVELS 


use had rendered callous to the daily exercitations which 
her temper underwent at the hands of her master and Mrs. 
Wilson. A barnsman, a white-headed cowherd boy, with 
Cuddie the new ploughman and his mother, completed the 
party. The other laborers belonging to the property re- 
sided in their own houses, happy at least in this, that if 
their cheer was not more delicate than that which we have 
described, they could eat their fill unwatched by the sharp, 
envious gray eyes of Milnwood, which seemed to measure 
the quantity that each of his dependants swallowed as closely 
as if their glances attended each mouthful in its progress 
from the lips to the stomach. This close inspection was 
unfavorable to Cuddie, who sustained much prejudice in his 
new master’s opinion by the silent celerity with which he 
caused the victuals to disappear before him. And ever and 
anon Milnwood turned his eyes from the huge feeder to cast 
indignant glances upon his nephew, whose repugnance to 
rustic labor was the principal cause of his needing a plough- 
man, and who had been the direct means of his hiring this 
very cormorant. 

“ Pay thee wages, quotha!” said Milnwood to himself. 
“ Thou wilt eat in a week the value of mair than thou canst 
work for in a month.” 

These disagreeable ruminations were interrupted by a loud 
knocking at the outer gate. It was a universal custom in 
Scotland that, when the family was at dinner, the outer gate 
of the courtyard, if there was one, and if not, the door of the 
house itself, was always shut and locked, and only guests of 
importance, or persons upon urgent business, sought or re- 
ceived admittance at that time.* The family of Milnwood 
were therefore surprised and, in the unsettled state of the 
times, something alarmed at the earnest and repeated knock- 
ing with which the gate was now assailed. Mrs. Wilson ran 
in person to the door, and having reconnoitred those who 
were so clamorous for admittance, through some secret aper- 
ture with which most Scottish doorways were furnished for 
the express purpose, she returned wringing her hands in great 
dismay, exclaiming, “ The redcoats ! the redcoats ! ” 

“ Robin — ploughman, what ca’ they ye ? : — barnsman — 
nevoy Harry — open the door — open the door !” exclaimed old 
Milnwood, snatching up and slipping into his pocket the two 
or three silver spoons with which the upper end of the- table 
was garnished, those beneath the salt being of goodly horn. 

Speak them fair, sirs — Lord love ye, speak them fair/ 

* See Locking the Door during Dinner. Note 12. 


OLD MORTALITY 


67 


they winna bide throwing ; we’re a’ harried — we’re a’ har- 
ried ! ” 

While the servants admitted the troopers, whose oaths and 
threats already indicated resentment at the delay they had 
been put to, Cuddie took the opportunity to whisper to his 
mother, “ Now, ye daft auld carline, mak yoursell deaf — ye 
hae made us a’ deaf ere now — and let me speak for ye. I wad 
like ill to get my neck raxed for an auld wife’s clashes, though 
ye be our mither.” 

“ 0 hinny, ay ; I’se be silent or thou sail come to ill,” 
was the corresponding whisper of Mause ; “ but bethink ye, 
my dear, them that deny the Word, the Word will deny ” 

Her admonition was cut short by the entrance of the Life 
Guardsmen, a party of four troopers commanded by Both- 
well. 

In they tramped, making a tremendous clatter upon the 
stone floor with the iron-shod heels of their large jack-boots 
and the clash and clang of their long, heavy, basket-hilted 
broadswords. Milnwood and his housekeeper trembled from 
well-grounded apprehensions of the system of exaction and 
plunder carried on during these domiciliary visits. Henry 
Morton was discomposed with more special cause, for he re- 
membered that he stood answerable to the laws for having 
harbored Burley. The widow, Mause Headrigg, between fear 
for her son’s life and an overstrained and enthusiastic zeal 
which reproached her for consenting even tacitly to belie her 
religious sentiments, was in a strange quandary. The other 
servants quaked for they knew not well what. Cuddie alone, 
with the look of supreme indifference and stupidity which a 
Scottish peasant can at times assume as a mask for consider- 
able shrewdness and craft, continued to swallow large spoon- 
fuls of his broth, to command which he had drawn within 
his sphere the largo vessel that contained it, and helped him- 
self amid the confusion to a sevenfold portion. 

“ What is your pleasure here, gentlemen ?” said Milnwood, 
humbling himself before the satellites of power. 

“ We come in behalf of the King,” answered Bothwell. 
“ Why the devil did you keep us so long standing at the 
door ?” . 

“ We were at dinner,” answered Milnwood, “ and the door 
was locked, as is usual in land wart towns* in this country. I 
am sure, gentlemen, if I had kenn’d ony servants of our gude 

King had stood at the door But wad ye please to drink 

some ale — or some brandy — or a cup of canary sack, or claret 

* See Landward Town. Note 13. 


08 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


wine ?” making a pause between each offer as long as a stingy 
bidder at an auction, who is loath to advance his offer for a 
favorite lot. 

“ Claret for me,” said one fellow. 

“ I like ale better,” said another, “provided it is right 
juice of John Barleycorn.” 

“Better never was malted,” said Milnwood. “I can 
hardly say sae muckle for the claret ; it’s thin and cauld, 
gentlemen.” 

“ Brandy will cure that,” said a third fellow ; “ a glass of 
brandy to three glasses of wine prevents the curmurring in 
the stomach.” 

“ Brandy, ale, sack, and claret — we’ll try them all,” said 
Both well, “ and stick to that which is best. There’s good 
sense in that if the damn’dest Whig in Scotland had said it.” 

Hastily, yet with a reluctant quiver of his muscles, Miln- 
wood lugged out two ponderous keys, and delivered them to 
the governante. 

“The housekeeper,” said Bothwell, taking a seat and 
throwing himself upon it, “ is neither so young nor so hand- 
some as to tempt a man to follow her to the gaun trees, and 
devil a one here is there worth sending in her place. What’s 
this ? meat ? ” searching with a fork among the broth, and 
fishing up a cutlet of mutton. “ I think I could eat a bit ; 
why, it’s as tough as if the devil’s dam had hatched it.” 

“If there is anything better in the house, sir,” said Miln- 
wood, alarmed at these symptoms of disapprobation 

“Ho, no,” said Bothwell, “it’s not worth while; I must 
proceed to business. You attend Pound text, the Presbyte- 
rian parson, I understand, Mr. Morton ?” 

Mr. Morton hastened to slide in a confession and apology. 

“ By the indulgence of his gracious Majesty and the gov- 
ernment, for I wad do nothing out of law. I hae nae objec- 
tion whatever to the establishment of a moderate episcopacy, 
but only that I am a country-bred man and the ministers are 
a hamelier kind of folk, and I can follow their doctrine better ; 
and, with reverence, sir, it’s a mair frugal establishment for 
the country.” 

“ Well, I care nothing about that,” said Bothwell ; “they 
are indulged, and there’s an end of it ; but, for my part, if I 
were to give the law, never a crop-ear’d cur of the whole 
pack should bark in a Scotch pulpit. However, I am to obey 
commands. There comes the liquor ; put it down, my good 
old lady.” 


OLD MORTALITY 


He decanted about one-half of a quart bottle of claret into 
a wooden quaigh or bicker, and took it off at a draught. 

“ Yon did your good wine injustice, my friend ; it’s bet- 
ter than your brandy, though that’s good too. Will you 
pledge me to the King’s health ? ” 

# “With pleasure,” said Milnwood, “in ale; but I never 
drink claret, and keep only a very little for some honored 
friends.” 

“ Like me, I suppose,” said Both well ; and then pushing 
the bottle to Henry, he said, “ Here, young man, pledge you 
the King’s health.” 

Henry filled a moderate glass in silence, regardless of the 
hints and pushes of his uncle, which seemed to indicate that 
he ought to have followed his example in preferring beer to 
wine. 

“Well,” said Bothwell, “have ye all drank the toast? 
What is that old wife about ? Give her a glass of brandy ; 
she shall drink the King’s health, by ” 

“If your honor pleases,” said Cuddie, with great stolidity 
of aspect, “ this is my mither, stir ; and she’s as deaf as 
Oorra Linn. We canna mak her hear day nor door ; but if 
your honor pleases, I am ready to drink the King’s health 
for her in as mony glasses of brandy as ye think neshessary.” 

“I dare swear you are,” answered Bothwell ; “you look 
like a fellow that would stick to brandy. Help thyself, man ; 
all’s free where’er I come. Tom, help the maid to a com- 
fortable cup, though she’s but a dirty jilt neither. Fill 
round once more. Here’s to our noble commander, Colonel 
Grahame of Claverhouse ! What the devil is the old woman 
groaning for ? She looks as very a Whig as ever sat on a 
hillside. Do you renounce the Covenant, good woman ? ” 

“ Whilk Covenant is your honor meaning ? Is it the 
Covenant of Works or the Covenant of Grace ? ” said Cuddie, 
interposing. 

“Any covenant ; all covenants that ever were hatched,” 
answered the trooper. 

“ Mither,” cried Cuddie, affecting to speak as to a deaf 
person, “ the gentleman wants to ken if ye will renunce the 
Covenant of Works ?” 

“With all my heart, Cuddie,” said Mause, “and pray 
that my feet may be delivered from the snare thereof.” 

“ Come,” said Bothwell, “the old dame has come more 
frankly off than I expected. Another cup round, and then 
we’ll proceed to business. You have all heard, I suppose, of 
the horrid and barbarous murder committed upon the person 


WAVERLfiY tiOVflLS 


TO 

of the Archbishop of St. Andrews, by ten or eleven armed 
fanatics ?" 

All started and looked at each other ; at length Milnwood 
himself answered, “ They had heard of some such misfortune, 
but were in hopes it had not been true." 

“ There is the relation published by government, old gen- 
tleman ; what do you think of it ? " 

“ Think, sir? Wh — wh — whatever the council please to 
think of it," stammered Milnwood. 

“ I desire to have your opinion more explicitly, my friend," 
said the dragoon, authoritatively. 

Milnwood's eyes hastily glanced through the paper to pick 
out the strongest expressions of censure with which it 
abounded, in gleaning which he was greatly aided by their 
being printed in italics. “ I think it a — bloody and execrable 
— murder and parricide — devised by hellish and implacable 
cruelty — utterly abominable, and a scandal to the land." 

“ Well said, old gentleman !" said the querist. “ Here's 
to thee, and I wish you joy of your good principles. You 
owe me a cup of thanks for having taught you them ; nay, 
thou shalt pledge me in thine own sack, sour ale sits ill upon 
a loyal stomach. How comes your turn, young man ; what 
think you of the matter in hand ? " 

“ I should have little objection to answer you," said Henry, 
“if I knew what right you had to put the question." 

“ The Lord preserve us ! " said the old housekeeper, “ to 
ask the like o' that at a trooper, when a' folk ken they do 
whatever they like through the haill country wi' man and 
woman, beast and body." 

The old gentleman exclaimed in the same horror at his 
nephew's audacity, “Hold your peace, sir, or answer the 
gentleman discreetly. Do you mean to affront the King's 
authority in the person of a sergeant of the Life Guards ? " 

“Silence, all of you!" exclaimed Both well, striking his 
hand fiercely on the table — “silence, every one of you, and 
hear me ! You ask me for my right to examine you, sir (to 
Henry). My cockade and my broadsword are my commission, 
and a better one than ever Old Hoi gave to his Koundheads ; 
and if you want to know more about it you may look at the 
act of council empowering his Majesty's officers and sol- 
diers to search for, examine, and apprehend suspicious per- 
sons ; and therefore once more I ask you your opinion of the 
death of Archbishop Sharp. It's a new touchstone we have 
got for trying people's metal." 

Henry had by this time reflected upon the useless risk to 


OLD MORTALITY 


71 


t • 

which he would expose the family by resisting the tyrannical 
power which was delegated to such rude hands ; he therefore 
read the narrative over, and replied composedly, “ I have no 
hesitation to say that the perpetrators of this assassination 
have committed, in my opinion, a rash and wicked action, 
which I regret the more as I foresee it will be made the cause 
of proceedings against many who are both innocent of the 
deed and as far from approving it as myself.” 

While Henry thus expressed himself, Both well, who bent 
his eyes keenly upon him, seemed suddenly to recollect his 
features. “ Aha ! my friend. Captain Popinjay, I think I 
have seen you before, and in very suspicious company.” 

“I saw you once,” answered Henry, “in the public-house 
of the town of ” 

“And with whom did you leave that public-house, young- 
ster ? Was it not with John Balfour of Burley, one of the 
murderers of the Archbishop ? ” 

“ I did leave the house with the person you have named,” 
answered Henry, “ I scorn to deny it ; but so far from know- 
ing him to be a murderer of the primate, I did not even know 
at the time that such a crime had been committed.” 

“Lord have mercy on me, I am ruined ! — utterly ruined and 
undone ! ” exclaimed Milnwood. “ That callant's tongue will 
rin the head aff his ain shoulders, and waste my gudes to the 
very gray cloak on my back ! ” 

“ But you knew Burley,” continued Both well, still ad- 
dressing Henry, and regardless of his uncle's interruption, 
“to be an intercommuned rebel and traitor, and you knew the 
prohibition to deal with such persons. You knew that as a 
loyal subject you were prohibited to reset, supply, or inter- 
commune with this attainted traitor, to correspond with him 
by word, writ, or message, or to supply him with meat, drink, 
house, harbor, or victual, under the highest pains — you knew 
all this, and yet you broke the law. [Henry was silent.] 
Where did you part from him ?” continued Bothwell ; “ was 
it in the highway, or did you give him harborage in this very 
house ? ” 

“In this house !” said his uncle ; “he dared not for his 
neck bring ony traitor into a house of mine.” 

“Dare he deny that he did so ?” said Bothwell. 

“As you charge it to me as a crime,” said Henry, 
“you will excuse my saying anything that will criminate 
myself.” 

“ 0, the lands of Milnwood ! the bonny lands of Milnwood, 
that have been in the name of Morton twa hundred years I” 


72 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


exclaimed his uncle. “ They are barking and fleeing, outfield 
and infield, haugh and holme ! ” 

“No, sir,” said Henry, “you shall not suffer on my account. 
I own,” he continued, addressing Both well, “I did give this 
man a night's lodging, as to an old military comrade of my 
father. But it was not only without my uncle's knowledge, 
but contrary to his express general orders. I trust, if my evi- 
dence is considered as good against myself, it will have some 
weight in proving my uncle’s innocence.” 

“ Come, young man,” said the soldier, in a somewhat milder 
tone, “you're a smart spark enough, and I am sorry for you ; 
and your uncle here is a fine old Trojan, kinder, I see, to his 
guests than himself, for he gives us wine and drinks his own 
thin ale. Tell me all you know about this Burley, what he 
said when you parted from him, where he went, and where he 
is likely now to be found ; and, d — n it. I'll wink as hard on 
your share of the business as my duty will permit. There's 
a thousand merks on the murdering Whigamore's head an I 
could but light on it. Come, out with it ; where did you part 
with him ?” 

“You will excuse my answering that question, sir,” said 
Morton. “ The same cogent reasons which induced me to 
afford him hospitality at considerable risk to myself and my 
friends would command me to respect his secret, if indeed he 
had trusted me with any.” 

“So you refuse to give me an answer ?” said Both well. 

“ I have none to give,” returned Henry. 

“ Perhaps I could teach you to find one by tying a piece 
of lighted match betwixt your fingers,” answered Bothwell. 

“ 0, for pity's sake, sir,” said old Alison apart to her 
master, “gie them siller ; it's siller they're seeking. They'll 
murder Mr. Henry, and yoursell next ! ” 

Milnwood groaned in perplexity and bitterness of spirit, 
and, with a tone as if he was giving up the ghost, exclaimed, 
“ If twenty p — p — punds would make up this unhappy mat- 
ter ” 

“ My master,” insinuated Alison to the sergeant, “ would 
gie twenty punds sterling ” 

“ Punds Scotch, ye b — h ! ” interrupted Milnwood ; for 
the agony of his avarice overcame alike his Puritanic pre- 
cision and the habitual respect he entertained for his house- 
keeper. 

“ Punds sterling,” insisted the housekeeper, “ if ye wad 
hae the gudeness to look ower the lad's misconduct. He's 
that dour ye might tear him to pieces and ye wad ne'er get a 


OLD MORTALITY 


73 


word out o’ him ; and it wad do ye little gude, I’m sure, to 
burn his bonny finger-ends.” 

“ Why,” said Bothwell, hesitating, “ I don’t know. Most 
of my cloth would have the money, and take off the prisoner 
too ; but I bear a conscience, and if your master will stand to 
your offer, and enter into a bond to produce his nephew, and 
if all in the house will take the test-oath, I do not know 
but ” 

“ 0 ay, ay, sir,” cried Mrs. Wilson, “ony test, ony oaths 
ye please ! ” And then aside to her master, “ Haste ye away, 
sir, and get the siller, or they will burn the house about our 
lugs.” 

Old Milnwood cast a rueful look upon his adviser, and 
moved off like a piece of Dutch clockwork to set at liberty his 
imprisoned angels in this dire emergency. Meanwhile Sergeant 
Bothwell began to put the test-oath with such a degree of 
solemn reverence as might have been expected, being just 
about the same which is used to this day in his Majesty’s cus- 
tom-house. 

“You — what’s your name, woman ?” 

“ Alison Wilson, sir.” 

“ You, Alison Wilson, solemnly swear, certify, and declare 
that you judge it unlawful for subjects, under pretext of ref- 
ormation or any other pretext whatsoever, to enter into 
Leagues and Covenants ” 

Here the ceremony was interrupted by a strife between 
Cuddie and his mother, which, long conducted in whispers,now 
became audible. 

“ Oh, whisht, mifclier, whisht ! they’re upon a communing. 
Oh ! whisht, and they’ll agree weel eneugh e’enow.” 

“I will not whisht, Cuddie,” replied his mother; “I will 
uplift my voice and spare not. I will confound the man of sin, 
even the scarlet man, and through my voice shall Mr. Henry 
be freed from the net of the fowler.” 

“ She has her leg ower the harrows now,” said Cuddie, 
“ stop her wha can. I see her cocked up behint a dragoon 
on her way to the tolbooth. I find my ain legs tied below a 
horse’s beily. Ay, she has just mustered up her sermon, and 
there, wi’ that grane, out it comes, and we are a’ ruined, horse 
and foot ! ” 

“ And div ye think to come here,” said Mause, her with- 
ered hand shaking in concert with her keen though wrinkled 
visage, animated by zealous wrath, and emancipated, by the 
very mention of the test, from the restraints of her own pru- 
dence and Cuddie’s admonition — “ div ye think to come here 


74 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


wi' your soul-killing, saint-seducing, conscience-confounding 
oaths and tests and bands, your snares and your traps and 
your gins ? Surely it is in vain that a net is spread in the 
sight of any bird.” 

“ Eh ! what, good dame ? 99 said the soldier. “ Here's a 
Whig miracle, egad ! the old wife has got both her ears and 
tongue, and we are like to be driven deaf in our turn. Go 
to, hold your peace, and remember whom you talk to, you old 
idiot.” 

“ Whae do I talk to ! Eh, sirs, owerweel may the sorrow- 
ing land ken what ye are. Malignant adherents ye are to the 
prelates, foul props to a feeble and filthy cause, bloody beasts 
of prey and burdens to the earth.” 

“ Upon my soul,” said Both well, astonished as a mastiff 
dog might be should a hen-partridge fly at him in defence of 
her young, “ this is the finest language I ever heard ! Can't 
you give us some more of it ?” 

“ Gie ye some mair o't ?” said Mause, clearing her voice 
with a preliminary cough. “ I will take up my testimony 
against you ance and again. Philistines ye are, and Edom- 
ites ; leopards are ye, and foxes ; evening wolves that gnaw 
not the bones till the morrow ; wicked dogs that compass 
about the chosen ; thrusting kine, and pushing bulls of 
Bashan ; piercing serpents ye are, and allied baith in name 
and nature with the great Red Dragon — Revelations, twalfth 
chapter, third and fourth verses.” 

Here the old lady stopped, apparently much more from 
lack of breath than of matter. 

“ Curse the old hag ! ” said one of the dragoons ; “ gag 
her and take her to headquarters.” 

“ For shame, Andrews ! ” said Bothwell ; “ remember the 
good lady belongs to the fair sex, and uses only the privilege 
of her tongue. But hark ye, good woman, every bull of 
Bashan and Red Dragon will not be so civil as I am, or be 
contented to leave you to the charge of the constable and 
ducking-stool. In the meantime I must necessarily carry off 
this young man to headquarters. I cannot answer to my 
commanding officer to leave him in a house where I have 
heard so much treason and fanaticism.” 

“ See now, mither, what ye hae dune,” whispered Cuddie ; 
“ there's the Philistines, as ye ca' them, are gaun to whirry 
awa' Mr. Henry, and a' wi' your nash-gab, deil be on't ! 99 

“ Haud yere tongue, ye cowardly loon,” said the mother, 
“ and layna the wyte on me ; if you and thae thowless glut- 
tons, that are sitting staring like cows bursting on clover. 


OLD MORTALITY 


75 


wad testify wi' your hands as I have testified wi' my tongue, 
they should never harle the precious young lad awa' to cap- 
tivity." 

While this dialogue passed the soldiers had already bound 
and secured their prisoner. Milnwood returned at this in- 
stant, and, alarmed at the preparations he beheld, hastened to 
proffer to Bothwell, though with many a grievous groan, the 
purse of gold which he had been obliged to rummage out as 
ransom for his nephew. The trooper took the purse with an 
air of indifference, weighed it in his hand, chucked it up into 
the air, and caught it as it fell, then shook his head and said, 
“There's many a merry night in this nest of yellow, boys, 
but d — n me if I dare venture for them ; that old woman has 
spoken too loud, and before all the men too. Hark ye, old 
gentleman, "to Milnwood, “I must take your nephew to head- 
quarters, so I cannot in conscience keep more than is my due 
as civility-money ; " then opening the purse he gave a gold 
piece to each of the soldiers and took three to himself. 
“Now," said he, “you have the comfort to know that your 
kinsman, young Captain Popinjay, will be carefully looked 
after and civilly used ; and the rest of the money I return to 
you." 

Milnwood eagerly extended his hand. 

“ Only you know," said Bothwell, still playing with the 
purse, “ that every landholder is answerable for the conformity 
and loyalty of his household, and that these fellows of mine 
are not obliged to be silent on the subject of the fine sermon 
we have had from that old Puritan in the tartan plaid there; 
and I presume you are aware that the consequences of dela- 
tion will be a heavy fine before the council." 

“Good sergeant ! worthy captain !" exclaimed the terri- 
fied miser, “ I am sure there is no person in my house, to my 
knowledge, would give cause of offence." 

“ Nay," answered Bothwell, “ you shall hear her give her 
testimony, as she calls it, herself. You, fellow [to Ouddie], 
stand back and let your mother speak her mind. I see she's 
primed and loaded again since her first discharge." 

“ Lord ! noble sir," said Cuddie, “ an auld wife's tongue's 
but a feckless matter to mak sic a fash about. Neither my 
father nor me ever minded muckle what our mither said." 

“Hold your peace, my lad, while you are well," said 
Bothwell; “I promise you I think you are slyer than you 
would like to be supposed. Come, good dame, you see your 
master will not believe that you can give us so bright a testi- 
mony." 


76 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


Manse’s zeal did not require this spur to set her again on 
full career. “ Woe to the compilers and carnal self-seekers/’ 
she said, “ that daub over and drown their consciences by 
complying with wicked exactions, and giving mammon of 
unrighteousness to the sons of Belial that it may make their 
peace with them ! It is a sinful compliance, a base con- 
federacy with the Enemy. It is the evil that Menahan did 
in the sight of the Lord when he gave a thousand talents 
to Peel, King of Assyria, that his hand might be with him — 
Second Kings, feifteen chapter, nineteen verse. It is the evil 
deed of Ahab when he sent money to Tiglath-Peleser — see 
the saame Second Kings, saxteen and aught. And if it was 
accounted a backsliding even in godly Hezekiah that he com- 
plied with Sennacherib, giving him money and offering to 
bear that which was put upon him — see the saame Second 
Kings, aughteen chapter, fourteen and feifteen verses — even 
so it is with them that in this contumacious and backsliding 
generation pays localities and fees, and cess and fines, to 
greedy and unrighteous publicans, and extortions and stipends 
to hireling curates — dumb dogs which bark not, sleeping, lying 
down, loving to slumber — and gives gifts to be helps and hires 
to our oppressors and destroyers. They are all like the casters 
of a lot with them, like the preparing of a table for the troop 
and the furnishing a drink-offering to the number.” 

“ There’s a fine sound of doctrine for you, Mr. Morton ! 
How like you that ? ” said Both well ; “ or how do you think 
the council will like it ? I think we can carry the greatest 
part of it in our heads without a keelyvine pen and a pair of 
tablets, such as you bring to conventicles. She denies paying 
cess, I think, Andrews ?” 

“ Yes, by Gr — ,” said Andrews ; “and she swore it was a 
sin to give a trooper a pot of ale, or ask him to sit down to a 
table.” 

“ You' hear,” said Both well, addressing Milnwood ; “ but 
it’s your own affair ; ” and he proffered back the purse with 
its diminished contents with an air of indifference. 

Milnwood, whose head seemed stunned by the accumula- 
tion of his misfortunes, extended his hand mechanically to 
take the purse. 

“ Are ye mad ? ” said his housekeeper, in a whisper. “ Tell 
them to keep it ; they will keep it either by fair means or 
foul, and it’s our only chance to make them quiet.” 

“I canna do it, Ailie — I canna do it,” said Milnwood, in 
the bitterness of his heart. “ I canna part wi’ the siller I hae 
counted sae often ower to thae blackguards/’ 


OLD MORTALITY 


77 


“ Then I maun do it mysell, Milnwood,” said the house- 
keeper, “ or see a’ gang wrang thegither. My master, sir,” 
she said, addressing Bothwell, “ canna think o' taking back 
onything at the hand of an honorable gentleman like you ; he 
implores ye to pit up the siller and be as kind to his nephew 
as ye can, and be favorable in reporting our dispositions to 
government, and let us tak nae wrang for the daft speeches of 
an auld jaud [here she turned fiercely upon Mause, to indulge 
herself for the effort which it cost her to assume a mild de- 
meanor to the soldiers], a daft auld Whig randy, that ne’er 
was in the house, foul fa’ her ! till yesterday afternoon, and 
that sail ne’er cross the door-stane again an anes I had her 
out o’t.” 

“ Ay, ay,” whispered Cuddie to his parent, “e’en sae ! I 
kenn’d we wad be put to our travels again whene’er ye suld 
get three words spoken to an end. I was sure that wad be 
the upshot o’t, mither.” 

“ Whisht, my bairn,” said she, “ and dinna murmur at the 
cross. Cross their door-stane ! weel I wot I’ll ne’er cross their 
door-stane. There’s nae mark on their threshold for a signal 
that the destroying angel should pass by. They’ll get a back- 
cast o’ his hand yet that think sae muckle o’ the creature and 
sae little o’ the Creator ; sae muckle o’ warld’s gear and sae 
little o’ a broken Covenant ; sae muckle about thae wheen 
pieces o’ yellow muck and sae little about the pure gold o’ the 
Scripture ; sae muckle about their ain friend and kinsman and 
sae little about the elect that are tried wi’ hornings, harassings, 
huntings, searchings, chasings, catchings, imprisonments, 
torturings, banishments, headings, hangings, dismemberings, 
and quarterings quick, forbye the hundreds forced from their 
ain habitations to the deserts, mountains, muirs, mosses, 
moss-flows, and peat-hags, there to hear the Word like bread 
eaten in secret.” 

“She’s at the Covenant now, sergeant, shall we not have 
her away ?” said one of the soldiers. 

“ You be d — d ! ” said Bothwell aside to him ; “ cannot you 
see she’s better where she is, so long as there is a respectable, 
sponsible, money-broking heritor like Mr. Morton of Miln- 
wood, who has the means of atoning her trespasses ? Let the 
old mother fly to raise another brood, she’s too tough to be 
made anything of herself. Here,” he cried, “one other 
round to Milnwood and his roof-tree, and to our next merry 
meeting with him, which I think will not be far distant if he 
keeps such a fanatical family.” 

He then ordered the party to take their horses, and pressed 


78 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


the best in Miln wood's stable into the king's service to carry 
the prisoner. Mrs. Wilson, with weeping eyes, made up a 
small parcel of necessaries for Henry's compelled journey, and 
as she bustled about, took an opportunity, unseen by the 
party, to slip into his hand a small sum of money. Bothwell 
and his troopers in other respects kept their promise and were 
civil. They did not bind their prisoner, but contented them- 
selves with leading his horse between a file of men. They 
then mounted and marched off with much mirth and laughter 
among themselves, leaving the Milnwood family in great con- 
fusion. The old Laird himself, overpowered by the loss of 
his nephew, and the unavailing outlay of twenty pounds ster- 
ling, did nothing the whole evening but rock himself back- 
wards and forwards in his great leathern easy-chair, repeat- 
ing the same lamentation of “Ruined on a' sides — ruined on 
a' sides ; harried and undone — harried and undone, body and 
gudes— body and gudes ! " 

Mrs. Alison Wilson's grief was partly indulged and partly 
relieved by the torrent of invecth es with which she accom- 
panied Mause and Cuddie's expulsion from Milnwood. “Ill 
luck be in the graning corse o' thee ! The prettiest lad in 
Clydesdale this day maun be a sufferer, and a' for you and 
your daft Whiggery ! " 

“ Gae wa'," replied Mause ; “ I trow ye are yet in the bonds 
of sin and in the gall of iniquity, to grudge your bonniest and 
best in the cause of Him that gave ye a' ye hae. I promise I 
hae dune as muckle for Mr. Harry as I wad do for my ain ; for 
if Cuddie was found worthy to bear testimony in the Grass- 
market " 

“And there's gude hope o't," said Alison, “unless you 
and he change your courses." 

“ And if," continued Mause, disregarding the interrup- 
tion, “ the bloody Doegs and the flattering Ziphites were to 
seek to ensnare me with a proffer of his remission upon sin- 
ful compliances, I wad persevere, natheless, in- lifting my 
testimony against Popery, Prelacy, Antinomianism, Erastian- 
ism, Lapsarianism, Sublapsarianism, and the sins and snares 
of the times ; I wad cry as a woman in labor against the 
Black Indulgence that has been a stumbling-block to profes- 
sors ; I wad uplift my voice as a powerful preacher." 

“ Hout tout, mither," cried Cuddie, interfering and drag- 
ging her off forcibly, “dinna deave the gentlewoman wi' 
your testimony ! ye hae preached eneugh for sax days. Ye 
preached us out o' our canny free-house and gude kale-yard, 
and out o' this new city o' refuge afore our hinder end was 


OLD MORTALITY 


79 

weel liaf ted in it ; and ye hae preached Mr. Harry awa' to the 
prison ; and ye hae preached twenty punds out o' the Laird's 
pocket that he likes as ill to quit wi' ; and sae ye may haud 
sae for ae wee while, without preaching me up a ladder and 
down a tow. Sae come awa^ — come awa'; the family hae had 
eneugh o' your testimony to mind it for ae while." 

So saying he dragged olf Mause, the words “ Testimony, 
Covenant, malignants, indulgence " still thrilling upon her 
tongue, to make preparations for instantly renewing their 
travels in quest of an asylum. 

“Ill-faur'd, crazy, crack-brained gowk that she is!" ex- 
claimed the housekeeper, as she saw them depart, “to set up 
to be sae muckle better than ither folk, the auld besom, and 
to bring sae muckle distress on a douce quiet family ! If it 
hadna been that I am mair than half a gentlewoman by my 
station, I wad hae tried my ten nails in the wizen'd hide o' 
her !" 


CHAPTER IX 


I am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars, 

And show my cuts and scars wherever I come ; 

This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench, 

When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum. 

Burns. 

“ Don’t be too much cast down/’ said Sergeant Both well to 
his prisoner as they journeyed on towards the headquarters ; 
“ you are a smart pretty lad, and well connected ; the worst 
that will happen will be strapping up for it, and that is many 
an honest fellow’s lot. I tell you fairly your life’s within the 
compass of the law, unless you make submission and get off 
by a round fine upon your uncle’s estate ; he can well afford it.” 

“That vexes me more than the rest,” said Henry. “ He 
parts with his money with regret ; and, as he had no concern 
whatever with my having given this person shelter for a night, 
I wish to Heaven, if I escape a capital punishment, that the 
penalty may be of a kind I could bear in my own person.” 

“ Why, perhaps,” said Bothwell, “ they will propose to 
you to go into one of the Scotch regiments that are serving 
abroad. It’s no bad line of service ; if your friends are active, 
and there are any knocks going, you may soon get a commis- 
sion.” 

“ I am by no means sure,” answered Morton, “that such 
a sentence is not the best thing that can happen to me.” 

“Why, then, you are no real Whig after all ?” said the 
sergeant. 

“ I have hitherto meddled with no party in the state,” said 
Henry, “ but have remained quietly at home ; and sometimes 
I have had serious thoughts of joining one of our foreign regi- 
ments.” 

“ Have you ? ” replied Bothwell. “ Why, I honor you for 
it ; I have served in the Scotch French guards myself many 
a long day ; it’s the place for learning discipline, d — n me. 
They never mind what you do when you are off duty ; but 
miss you the roll-call, and see how they’ll arrange you. * D — n 
me, if old Captain Montgomery didn’t make me mount guard 
upon the arsenal in my steel back and breast, plate-sleeves and 

w 


OLD MORTALITY 


81 


head-piece, for six hours at once, under so burning a sun that 
gad I was baked like a turtle at Port Royal. I swore never 
to miss answering to Francis Stewart again, though I should 
leave my hand of cards upon the drum-head. Ah ! discipline 
is a capital thing.” 

“ In other respects you liked the service ?” said Morton. 

“Par excellence ,” said Bothwell ; women, wine, and 
wassail, all to be had for little but the asking ; and if you find 
it in your conscience to let a fat priest think he has some 
chance to convert you, gad he’ll help you to these comforts 
himself, just to gain a little ground in your good affection. 
Where will you find a crop-eared Whig parson will be so 
civil ? ” 

“Why, nowhere, I agree with you,” said Henry; “but 
what was your chief duty ?” 

“ To guard the king’s person,” said Bothwell, “ to look 
after the safety of Louis le Grand, my boy, and nowand then 
to take a turn among the Huguenots — Protestants, that is. 
And there we had fine scope ; it brought my hand pretty well 
in for the service in this country. But, come, as you are to 
be a bon earner ado, as the Spaniards say, I must put you in 
cash with some of your old uncle’s broad-pieces. This is cut- 
ter’s law : we must not see a pretty fellow want if we have 
cash ourselves.” 

Thus speaking, he pulled out his purse, took out some of 
the contents, and offered them to Henry without counting 

them. Young Morton declined the favor ; and not judging 
it prudent to acquaint the sergeant, notwithstanding his ap- 
parent generosity, that he was actually in possession of some 
money, he assured him he should have no difficulty in getting 
a supply from his uncle. 

“ Well,” said Bothwell, “ in that case these yellow rascals 
must serve to ballast my purse a little longer. I always make 
it a rule never to quit the tavern — unless ordered on duty — 
while my purse is so weighty that I can chuck it over the 
sign-post.* When it is so light that the wind blows it back, 

then, boot and saddle, we must fall on some way of replen- 
ishing. But what tower is that before us,. rising so high upon 
the steep bank out of the woods that surround it on every 
side ? ” 

“ It is the Tower of Tillietudlem,” said one of the sol- 
diers. “ Old Lady Margaret Bellenden lives there. She’s one 
of the best affected women in the country, and one that’s a 
soldier’s friend. When I was hurt by one of the d — d Whig 

* See Throwing the Purse over the Gate. Note 14. 


82 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


dogs that shot at me from behind a fauld-dike, I lay a month 
there, and would stand such another wound to be in as good 
quarters again." 

“ If that be the case," said Bothwell, “ I will pay my re- 
spects to her as we pass, and request some refreshment for 
men and horses ; I am as thirsty already as if I had drunk 
nothing at Milnwood. But it is a good thing in these times," 
he continued, addressing himself to Henry, “ that the King's 
soldier cannot pass a house without getting a refreshment. 

In such houses as Tillie what d'ye call it ? you are served 

for love ; in the houses of the avowed fanatics you help your- 
self by force ; and among the moderate Presbyterians and 
other suspicious persons you are well treated from fear ; so 
your thirst is always quenched on some terms or other." 

“ And you propose," said Henry, anxiously, “to go upon 
that errand up to the Tower yonder ? " 

“ To he sure I do," answered Bothwell. “ How should I 
be able to report favorably to my officers of the worthy lady's 
sound principles unless I know the taste of her sack, for sack 
she will produce, that I take for granted ; it is the favorite 
consoler of your old dowager of quality, as small claret is the 
potation of your country laird." 

“ Then, for Heaven's sake," said Henry , “ if you are deter- 
mined to go there, do not mention my name, or expose me to 
a family that I am acquainted with. Let me be muffled up 
for the time in one of your soldier's cloaks, and only mention 
me generally as a prisoner under your charge." 

“ With all my heart," said Bothwell ; “ I promised to use 
you civilly, and I scorn to break my word. Here, Andrews, 
wrap a cloak round the prisoner, and do not mention his name 
nor where we caught him, unless you would have a trot on a 
horse of wood." * 

They were at this moment at an arched gateway, battle- 
mented and flanked with turrets, one whereof was totally 
ruinous, excepting the lower story, which served as a cow* 
house to the peasant whose family inhabited the turret that 
remained entire. The gate had been broken down by Monk's 
soldiers during the .Civil War, and had never been replaced, 
therefore presented no obstacle to Bothwell and his party. 
The avenue, very steep and narrow, and causewayed with 
large round stones, ascended the side of the precipitous bank 
in an oblique and zigzag course, now showing, now hiding, 
a view of the tower and its exterior bulwarks, which seemed 
to rise almost perpendicularly above their heads. The frag- 

* See Wooden Mare, Note 15. 


OLD MORTALITY 


83 


merits of Gothic defences which it exhibited were upon such 
a scale of strength as induced Bothwell to exclaim, “Its 
well this place is in honest and loyal hands. Egad, if the 
enemy had it, a dozen of old Whigamore wives with their dis- 
taffs might keep it against a troop of dragoons, at least if they 
had half the spunk of the old girl weleftatMilnwood. Upon 
my life,” he continued, as they came in front of the large 
double tower and its surrounding defences and flankers, “ it 
is a superb place, founded, says the worn inscription over the 
gate — unless the remnant of my Latin has given me the slip 
— by Sir Kalph de Bellenden in 1350, a respectable antiquity. 
I must greet the old lady with due honor, though it should 
put me to the labor of recalling some of the compliments that 
I used to dabble in when I was wont to keep that sort of com- 
pany.” 

As he thus communed with himself, the butler, who had 
reconnoitred the soldiers from an arrow- slit in the wall, an- 
nounced to his lady that a commanded party of dragoons, or, 
as he thought. Life Guardsmen, waited at the gate with a 
prisoner under their charge. 

“I am certain,” said Gudyill, “ and positive, that the sixth 
man is a prisoner ; for his horse is led, and the two dragoons 
that are before have their carabines out of their budgets, and 
rested upon their thighs. It was aye the way we guarded pris- 
oners in the days of the Great Marquis.” 

“King’s soldiers !” said the lady ; “probably in want of 
refreshment. Go, Gudyill, make them welcome, and let them 
be accommodated with what provision and forage the Tower 
can afford. And stay, tell my gentlewoman to bring my black 
scarf and manteau. I will go down myself to receive them ; 
one cannot show the King’s Life Guards too much respect in 
times when they are doing so much for royal authority. And 
d’ye hear, Gudyill, let Jenny Dennison slip on her pearlings 
to walk before my niece and me, and the three women to walk 
behind ; and bid my niece attend me instantly.” 

Fully accoutred, and attended according to her directions. 
Lady Margaret now sailed out into the courtyard of her tower 
with great courtesy and dignity. Sergeant Bothwell saluted 
the grave and reverend lady of the manor with an assurance 
which had something of the light and careless address of the 
dissipated men of fashion in Charles the Second’s time, and 
did not at all savor of the awkward or rude manners of a non- 
commissioned officer of dragoons. His language, as well as 
his manners, seemed also to be refined for the time and occasion; 
though the truth was that, in the fluctuations ol an adventurous 


84 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


and profligate life, Bothwell had sometimes kept company 
much better suited to his ancestry than to his present situation 
of life. To the lady’s request to know whether she could be 
of service to them he answered, with a suitable bow, “That 
as they had to march some miles farther that night, they would 
be much accommodated by permission to rest their horses for 
an hour before continuing their journey.” 

“ With the greatest pleasure,” answered Lady Margaret; 
“and I trust that my people will see that neither horse nor 
men want suitable refreshment.” 

“We are well aware, madam,” continued Bothwell, “that 
such has always been the reception, within the walls of Tillie- 
tudlem, of those who served the king.” 

“We have studied to discharge our duty faithfully and 
loyally on all occasions, sir,” answered Lady Margaret, pleased 
with the compliment, “ both to our monarchs and to their 
followers, particularly to their faithful soldiers. It is not 
long ago, and it probably has not escaped the recollection of 
his sacred Majesty now on the throne, since he himself hon- 
ored my poor house with his presence, and breakfasted in a 
room in this castle, Mr. Sergeant, which my waiting-gentle- 
woman shall show you ; we still call it the King’s room.” 

Bothwell had by this time dismounted his party and com- 
mitted the horses to the charge of one file and the prisoner 
to that of another ; so that he himself was at liberty to con- 
tinue the conversation which the lady had so condescendingly 
opened. 

“ Since the King, my master, had the honor to experience 
your hospitality, I cannot wonder that it is extended to those 
that serve him, and whose principal merit is doing it with 
fidelity. And yet I have a nearer relation to his Majesty than 
this coarse red coat would seem to indicate.” 

‘ ‘ Indeed, sir ? Probably,” said Lady Margaret, “ you have 
belonged to his household ? ” 

“Not exactly, madam, to his household, but rather to his 
house ; a connection through which I may claim kindred with 
most of the best families in Scotland, not, I believe, exclusive 
of that of Tillietudlem.” 

“ Sir ! ” said the old lady, drawing herself up with dignity 
at hearing what she conceived an impertinent jest, “ I do not 
understand you.” 

“ It’s but a foolish subject for one in my situation to talk 
of, madam,” answered the trooper ; “ but you must have 
heard of the history and misfortunes of my grandfather 
Francis Stewart, to whom James I., his cousin-german, gave 


OLD MORTALITY 


86 

the title of Both well, as my comrades give me the nickname. 
It was not in the long-run more advantageous to him than it 
is to me." 

“ Indeed ! " said Lady Margaret, with much sympathy and 
surprise. “ I have indeed always understood that the grand- 
son of the last earl was in necessitous circumstances, but I 
should never have expected to see him so low in the service. 
With such connections, what ill fortune could have reduced 
you ■" 

“ Nothing much out of the ordinary course, I believe, 
madam," said Bothwell, interrupting and anticipating the 
question. “ I have had my moments of good luck like my 
neighbors, have drunk my bottle with Bochester, thrown a 
merry main with Buckingham, and fought at Tangiers side 
by side with Sheffield. But my luck never lasted ; I could 
not make useful friends out of my jolly companions. Per- 
haps I was not sufficiently aware," he continued, with some 
bitterness, “how much the descendant of the Scottish Stew- 
arts was honored by being admitted into the convivialities of 
Wilmot and Villiers." 

“But your Scottish friends, Mr. Stewart, your relations 
here, so numerous and so powerful ? " 

“ Why, ay, my lady," replied the sergeant, “ I believe 
some of them might have made me their gamekeeper, for I 
am a tolerable shot ; some of them would have entertained 
me as their bravo, for I can use my sword well ; and here and 
there was one who, when better company was not to be had, 
would have made me his companion, since I can drink my 
three bottles of wine. But I don't know how it is, between 
service and service among my kinsmen, I prefer that of my 
cousin Charles as the most creditable of them all, although 
the pay is but poor and the livery far from splendid." 

“ It is a shame, it is a burning scandal ! " said Lady Mar- 
garet. “ Why do you not apply to his most sacred Majesty ? 
He cannot but be surprised to hear that a scion of his august 
family " 

“ I beg your pardon, madam," interrupted the sergeant, 
“ I am but a blunt soldier, and I trust you will excuse me 
when I say, his most sacred Majesty is more busy in grafting 
scions of his own than with nourishing those which were 
planted by his grandfather's grandfather." 

“ Well, Mr. Stewart," said Lady Margaret, “ one thing 
you must promise me, remain at Tillietudlem to-night ; to- 
morrow I expect your commanding officer, the gallant Claver- 
house, to whom king and country are so much obliged for his 


86 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


exertions against those who would turn the world upside down. 
I will speak to him on the subject of your speedy promotion ; 
and I am certain he feels too much both what is due to the 
blood which is in your veins, and to the request of a lady so 
highly distinguished as myself by his most sacred Majesty, 
not to make better provision for you than you have yet re- 
ceived/’ 

se I am much obliged to your ladyship, and I certainly will 
remain here with my prisoner since you request it, especially 
as it will be the earliest way of presenting him to Colonel 
Grahame and obtaining his ultimate orders about the young 
spark.” 

“ Who is your prisoner, pray you ? ” said Lady Margaret. 

“ A young fellow of rather the better class in this neigh- 
borhood, who has been so incautious as to give countenance 
to one of the murderers of the primate, and to facilitate the 
dog’s escape.” 

“0, fie upon him ! ” said Lady Margaret ; “ I am but too 
apt to forgive the injuries I have received at the hands of these 
rogues, though some of them, Mr. Stewart, are of a kind not 
like to be forgotten ; but those who would abet the perpetrators 
of so cruel and deliberate a homicide on a single man, an old 
man, and a man of the Archbishop’s sacred profession — 0, fie 
upon him ! If you wish to make him secure with little trouble 
to your people, I will cause Harrison or Gudyill look for the 
key of our pit, or principal dungeon. It has not been open 
since the week after the victory of Kilsyth, when my poor Sir 
Arthur Bellenden put twenty Whigs into it ; but it is not 
more than two stories beneath ground, so it cannot be un- 
wholesome, especially as I rather believe there is somewhere 
an opening to the outer air.” 

“ I beg your pardon, madam,” answered the sergeant ; “I 
dare say the dungeon is a most admirable one ; but I have 
promised to be civil to the lad, and I will take care he is 
watched so as to render escape impossible. I’ll set those to 
look after him shall keep him as fast as if his legs were in the 
boots, or his fingers in the thumbikins.” 

“ Well, Mr. Stewart,” rejoined the lady, “ you best know 
your own duty. I heartily wish you good evening, and com- 
mit you to the care of my steward, Harrison. I would ask 
you to keep ourselves company, but a — a — a ” 

“0, madam, it requires no apology; I am sensible the 
coarse red coat of King Charles II. does and ought to annihi- 
late the privileges of the red blood of King James V.” 

“ Not> with me, I do assure you* Mr, Stewart ; you do mo 


OLD MORTALITY 


87 

injustice if you think so. I will speak to your officer to-mor- 
row ; and I trust you shall soon find yourself in a rank where 
there shall be no anomalies to be reconciled.” 

“I believe, madam,” said Bothwell, “your goodness will 
find itself deceived ; but I am obliged to you for your inten- 
tion, and, at all events, I will have a merry night with Mr. 
Harrison.” 

Lady Margaret took a ceremonious leave, with all the re- 
spect which she owed to royal blood, even when flowing in the 
veins of a sergeant of the Life Guards, again assuring Mr. 
Stewart that whatever was in the Tower of Tillietudlem was 
heartily at his service and that of his attendants. 

Sergeant Bothwell did not fail to take the lady at her word, 
and readily forgot the height from which his family had de- 
scended in a joyous carousal, during which Mr. Harrison 
exerted himself to produce the best wine in the cellar, and to 
excite his guest to be merry by that seducing example which, 
in matters of conviviality, goes further than precept. Old 
Gudyill associated himself with a party so much to his taste, 
pretty much as Davy, in the Second Part of Henry the Fourth , 
mingles in the revels of his master, Justice Shallow. He ran 
down to the cellar at the risk of breaking his neck to ransack 
some private catacomb known, as he boasted, only to himself, 
and which never either had or should, during his superintend- 
ence, render forth a bottle of its contents to any one but a real 
king’s friend. 

“ When the Duke dined here,” said the butler, seating him- 
self at a distance from the table, being somewhat overawed by 
Bothwell’s genealogy,but yet hitching his seat half a yard nearer 
at every clause of his speech, “ my leddy was importunate to 
have a bottle of that Burgundy [here he advanced his seat a 
little] ; but I dinna ken how it was, Mr. Stewart, I misdoubted 
him. I jaloused him, sir, no to be the friend to government 
he pretends : the family are not to lippen to. That auld Duke 
James lost his heart before he lost his head ; and the Worcester 
man was but wersh parritch, neither gude to fry, boil, nor sup 
cauld.” With this witty observation, he completed his first 
parallel, and commenced a zigzag after the manner of an ex- 
perienced engineer, in order to continue his approaches to the 
table. “ Sae, sir, the faster my leddy cried, ‘ Burgundy to his 
Grace — the auld Burgundy — the choice Burgundy — the Bur- 
gundy that came ower in the thirty-nine/ the mair did I say 
to mysell, ‘ Deil a drap gangs down his hause unless I was mair 
sensible o’ his principles : sack and claret may serve him. ’ Na, 
na, gentlemen, as lang as I hae the trust o’ butler in this house 


88 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


o’ Tillietudlem, I’ll tak it upon me to see that nae disloyal of 
doubtfu’ person is the better o’ onr binns. But when I can 
find a true friend to the king and his cause, and a moderate 
episcopacy ; when I find a man, as I say, that will stand by 
Church and Crown as I did mysell in my master’s life, and all 
through Montrose’s time, I think there’s naething in the cel- 
lar ower gude to be spared on him.” 

By this time he had completed a lodgement in the body of 
the place, or, in other words, advanced his seat close to the 
table. 

“ And now, Mr. Francis Stewart of Bothwell, I have the 
honor to drink your gude health and a commission t’ye, and 
much luck may ye have in raking this country clear o’ Whigs 
and Koundheads, fanatics and Covenanters.” 

Bothwell, who, it may well be believed, had long ceased to 
be very scrupulous in point of society, which he regulated more 
by his convenience and station in life than his ancestry, 
readily answered the butler’s pledge, acknowledging, at the 
same time, the excellence of the wine ; and Mr. Gudyill, thus 
adopted a regular member of the company, continued to fur- 
nish them with the means of mirth until an early hour in the 
next morning. 


CHAPTER X 


Did I but purpose to embark with thee 
On the smooth surface of a summer sea, 

And would forsake the skiff and make the shore 
When the winds whistle and the tempests roar ? 

Prior. 

While Lady Margaret held, with the high-descended sergeant 
of dragoons, the conference which we have detailed in the 
preceding pages, her granddaughter, partaking in a less de- 
gree her ladyship’s enthusiasm for all who were sprung of the 
blood royal, did not honor Sergeant Both well with more atten- 
tion than a single glance, which showed her a tall powerful 
person and a set of hardy weather-beaten features, to which 
pride and dissipation had given an air where discontent min- 
gled with the reckless gayety of desperation. The other 
soldiers offered still less to detach her consideration ; but from 
the prisoner, muffled and disguised as he was, she found it 
impossible to withdraw her eyes. Yet she blamed herself for 
indulging a curiosity which seemed obviously to give pain to 
him who was its object. 

“ I wish,” she said to Jenny Dennison, who was the im- 
mediate attendant on her person — “ I wish we knew who that 
poor fellow is.” 

“I was just thinking sae mysell. Miss Edith,” said the 
waiting woman ; “ but it canna be Cuddie Headrigg, because 
he’s taller and no sae stout.” 

“ Yet,” continued Miss Bellenden, “ it may be some poor 
neighbor for whom we might have cause to interest ourselves.” 

“ I can sune learn wha he is,” said the enterprising Jenny, 
u if the sodgers were anes settled and at leisure, for I ken ane 
o’ them very weel — the best-looking and the youngest o’ them.” 

“I think you know all the idle young fellows about the 
country,” answered her mistress. 

“ Na, Miss Edith, I am no sae free o’ my acquaintance as 
that,” answered th o fille-de-chamlre. “ To be sure, folk canna 
help kenning the folk by head-mark that they see aye glow- 
ring and looking at them at kirk and market ; but I ken few 
lads to speak to "unless it be them o’ the family, and the three 


90 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


Steinsons, and Tam Rand, and the young miller, and the five 
Howisons in Nethersheils, and lang Tam Gilry, and ■” 

“ Pray cut short a list of exceptions which threatens to be 
a long one, and tell me how you come to know this young 
soldier,” said Miss Bellenden. 

“ Lord, Miss Edith, it's Tam Halliday, Trooper Tam, as 
they ca’ him, that was wounded by the hill-folk at the con- 
venticle at Outerside Muir, and lay here while he was under 
cure. I can ask him onything, and Tam will no refuse to 
answer me, I’ll be caution for him.” 

“ Try, then,” said Miss Edith, “ if you can find an oppor- 
tunity to ask him the name of his prisoner, and come to my 
room and tell me what he says.” 

Jenny Dennison proceeded on her errand, but soon returned 
with such a face of surprise and dismay as evinced a deep in- 
terest in the fate of the prisoner. 

“What is the matter ?” said Edith, anxiously ; “ does it 
prove to be Cuddie, after all, poor fellow ?” 

“ Cuddie, Miss Edith ! Na ! na ! it's nae Cuddie,” blub- 
bered out the faithful fille-de-chambre, sensible of the pain 
which her news were about to inflict on her young mistress. 
“ 0 dear. Miss Edith, it’s young Milnwood himsell ! ” 

“ Young Milnwood ! ” exclaimed Edith, aghast in her turn; 
“ it is impossible — totally impossible ! His uncle attends the 
clergyman indulged by law, and has no connection whatever 
with the refractory people ; and he himself has never inter- 
fered in this unhappy dissension. He must be totally inno- 
cent, unless he has been standing up for some invaded right.” 

“0, my dear Miss Edith,” said her attendant, “ these are 
not days to ask what's right or what’s wrang ; if he were as 
innocent as the new-born infant, they would find some way 
of making him guilty if they liked ; but Tam Halliday says it 
will touch his life, for he has been resetting ane o’ the Fife 
gentlemen that killed that auld carle of an archbishop.” 

“ His life ! ” exclaimed Edith, starting hastily up, and 
speaking with a hurried and tremulous accent ; “they can- 
not, they shall not ; I will speak for him ; they shall not hurt 
him!” 

“ 0, my dear young leddy, think on your grandmother ; 
think on the danger and the difficulty,” added Jenny ; “for 
he’s kept under close confinement till Claverhouse comes up 
in the morning, and if he doesna gie him full satisfaction, 
Tam Halliday says there will be brief wark wi’ him. Kneel 
down— mak ready— present— fire— just as they did wi’ auld 


OLD MORTALITY 


01 


deaf John Macbriar that never understood a single question 
they pat till him, and sae lost his life for lack o'Jiearing." 

“ Jenny,” said the young lady, “ if he should die I will 
die with him. There is no time to talk of danger or diffi- 
culty ; I will put on a plaid and slip down with you to the 
place where they have kept him ; I will throw myself at the 
feet of the sentinel and entreat him, as he has a soul to he 
saved " 

“ Eh, guide us ! " interrupted the maid, “ our young leddy 
at the feet o' Trooper Tam, and speaking to him about his 
soul, when the puir chield hardly kens whether he has ane or 
no, unless that he whiles swears by it ! That will never do ; 
but what maun be maun be, and Ell never desert a true-love 
cause. And sae if ye maun see young Milnwood, though I 
ken nae gude it will do but to make baith your hearts the 
sairer. I'll e'en tak the risk o't, and try to manage Tam Halli- 
day. But ye maun let me hae my ain gate and no speak ae 
word ; he's keeping guard o'er Milnwood in the easter round 
of the Tower.'' 

“ do, go, fetch me a plaid,'' said Edith. “ Let me but 
see him, and I will find some remedy for his danger. Haste 
ye, Jenny, as ever ye hope to have good at my hands." 

Jenny hastened, and soon returned with a plaid, in which 
Edith muffled herself so as completely to screen her face, and 
in part to disguise her person. This was a mode of arrang- 
ing the plaid very common among the ladies of that century 
and the earlier part of the succeeding one ; so much so, indeed, 
that the venerable sages of the Kirk, conceiving that the mode 
gave tempting facilities for intrigue, directed more than one 
act of Assembly against this use of the mantle. But fashion, 
as usual, proved too strong for. authority, and while plaids 
continued to be worn, women of all ranks occasionally em- 
ployed them as a sort of muffler or veil.* Her face and 
figure thus concealed, Edith, holding by her attendant's arm, 
hastened with trembling steps to the place of Morton's con- 
finement. 

This was a small study or closet in one of the turrets, 
opening upon a gallery in which the sentinel w r as pacing to 
and fro ; for Sergeant Bothwell, scrupulous in observing his 
word, and perhaps touched with some compassion for the 
prisoner's youth and genteel demeanor, had waived the in- 
dignity of putting his guard into the same apartment with 
him. Halliday, therefore, with his carabine on his arm, 
walked up and down the gallery, occasionally solacing him- 

* See Concealing the Face. Note 16. 


WAVERLEY novels 


self with a draught of ale, a huge flagon of which stood upon 
the table at one end of the apartment, and at other times 
humming the lively Scottish air — 

“ Between Saint Johnstone and Bonny Dundee, 

I’ll gar ye be fain to follow me.” 

Jenny Dennison cautioned her mistress once more to let 
her take her own way. 

“ I can manage the trooper weel eneugh,” she said, “ for 
as rough as he is ; I ken their nature weel ; but ye maunna 
say a single word.” 

She accordingly opened the door of the gallery just as the 
sentinel had turned his back from it, and taking up the tune 
which he hummed, she sung in a coquettish tone of rustic 
raillery — 

“ If I were to follow a poor sodger lad, 

My friends wad be angry, my minnie be mad ; 

A laird, or a lord, they were fitter for me, 

Sae I’ll never be fain to follow thee.” 

A fair challenge, by Jove,” cried the sentinel, turning 
round, “ and from two at once. But it's not easy to bang the 
soldier with his bandoleers ; ” then taking up the song where 
the damsel had stopped — 

“ To follow me ye weel may be glad, 

A share of my supper, a share of my bed, 

To the sound of the drum to range fearless and free, 

I’ll gar ye be fain to follow me. 

Come, my pretty lass, and kiss me for my song.” 

“ I should not have thought of that, Mr. Halliday,” an- 
swered Jenny, with a look and tone expressing just the neces- 
sary degree of contempt at the proposal, “ and Fse assure ye, 
yefll liae but little o’ my company unless ye show gentler 
havings. It wasna to hear that sort o* nonsense that brought 
me here wB my friend, and ve should think shame o’ yoursell, 
*at should ye.” 

“ Umph ! and what sort of nonsense did bring you here, 
then, Mrs. Dennison ? ” 

“ My kinswoman has some particular business with your 
prisoner, young Mr. Harry Morton, and I am come wi* her to 
speak till him.” 

“ The devil you are ! ” answered the sentinel ; “ and pray, 
Mrs. Dennison, how do your kinswoman and you propose to 


OLD MORTALITY 


9 $ 

get in ? You are rather too plump to whisk through a key- 
hole, and opening the door is a thing not to be spoke of.” 

“ It's no a thing to be spoken o', but a thing to be dune,” 
replied the persevering damsel. 

“ We'll see about that, my bonny Jenny ; ” and the soldier 
resumed his march, humming as he walked to and fro along 
the gallery — 

“ Keek into the draw-well, 

Janet, Janet, 

Then ye’ll see your bonny sell, 

My jo Janet.” 

“ So ye're no thinking to let us in, Mr. Halliday ? Weel, 
weel ; gude e'en to you ; ye haeseen the last o' me, and o' this 
bonny die too,” said Jenny, holding between her finger and 
thumb a splendid silver dollar. 

“ Give him gold, give him gold,” whispered the agitated 
young lady. 

“ Silver's e'en ower gude for the like o' him,” replied 
Jenny, “ that disna care for the blink o' a bonny lassie's ee ; 
and what’s waur, he wad think there was something mair in't 
than a kinswoman o' mine. My certy ! siller's no sae plenty 
wi' us, let alane gowd.” Having addressed this advice aside 
to her mistress, she raised her voice, and said, “My cousin 
winna stay ony langer, Mr. Halliday ; sae, if ye please, gude 
e'en t'ye.” 

“ Halt a hit — halt a bit,” said the trooper ; “rein up and 
parley, Jenny. If I let your kinswoman in to speak to my 
prisoner, you must stay here and keep me company till she 
come out again, and then we'll all be well pleased, you know.” 

“The fiend be in my feet, then,” said Jenny; “d'ye 
think my kinswoman and me are gaun to lose our gude name 
wi' cracking clavers wi' the like o' you or your prisoner either, 
without somebody by to see fair play ? Hegh, hegh, sirs, to 
see sic a difference between folks' promises and performance ! 
Ye were aye willing to slight puir Cuddie ; but an I had 
asked him to oblige me in a thing, though it had been to cost 
his hanging, he wadna hae stude twice about it.” 

“ D — n Cuddie ! ” retorted the dragoon, “ he'll be hanged 
in good earnest, I hope. . I saw him to-day at Milnwood with 

his old Puritanical b of a mother, and if I had thought I 

was to have had him cast in my dish, I would have brought 
him up at my horse's tail ; we had law enough to bear us out.” 

“ Very weel — very weel. See if Cuddie winna hae a lang 
shot at you ane o' thae days, if ye gar him tak the muir wi' 


94 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


sae many honest folk. He can hit a mark brawly ; he was 
third at the popinjay ; and he's as true of his promise as of ee 
and hand, though he disna mak sic a phrase about it as some 
acquaintance o' yours. But it's a' ane to me. Come, cousin, 
we'll awa'." 

“ Stay, Jenny ; d — n me if I hang fire more than another 
when I have said a thing," said the soldier, in a hesitating 
tone. “ Where is the sergeant ? " 

“ Drinking and driving ower," quoth Jenny, “wi' the 
steward and John Grudyill." 

“ So, so, he's safe enough ; and where are my comrades ? " 
asked Halliday. 

“ Birling the brown howl wi' the fowler and the falconer 
and some o' the serving folk." 

“ Have they plenty of ale ?" 

“ Sax gallons as gude as e'er was masked," said the maid. 

“Well, then, my pretty Jenny," said the relenting senti- 
nel, “ they are fast till the hour of relieving guard, and per- 
haps something later ; and so if you will promise to come 
alone the next time " 

“Maybe I will and maybe I winna," said Jenny ; “but if 
ye get the dollar, ve'll like that just as weel." 

“I'll be d — d if I do," said Halliday, taking the money, 
however; “but it's always something for my risk, for if 
Claverhouse hears what I have done he will build me a horse 
as high as the Tower of Tillietudlem. But every one in the 
regiment takes what they can come by ; I am sure Bothwell 
and his blood royal shows us a good example. And if I were 
trusting to you, you little jilting devil, I should lose both pains 
and powder ; whereas this fellow," looking at the piece, “will 
be good as far as he goes. So, come, there is the door open for 
you ; do not stay groaning and praying with the young Whig 
now, but be ready, when I call at the door, to start as if they 
were sounding ‘ Horse and away.'" 

So speaking, Halliday unlocked the door, of the closet, ad- 
mitted Jenny and her pretended kinswoman, locked it behind 
them, and hastily reassumed the indifferent measured step and 
time-killing whistle of a sentinel upon his regular duty. 

The door, which slowly opened, discovered Morton with 
both arms reclined upon a table, anj his head resting upon 
them in a posture of deep dejection. He raised his face as the 
door opened, and perceiving the female figures which it ad- 
mitted, started up in great surprise. Edith, as if modesty 
had quelled the courage which despair had bestowed, stood 
about a yard from the door without having either the power 


OLD MORTALITY 


95 


to speak or to advance. All the plans of aid, relief, or comfort 
which she had proposed to lay before her lover seemed at once 
to have vanished from her recollection, and left only a painful 
chaos of ideas, with which was mingled a fear that she had 
degraded herself in the eyes of Morton by a step which might 
appear precipitate and unfeminine. She hung motionless and 
almost powerless upon the arm of her attendant, who in vain 
endeavored to reassure and inspire her with courage by whisper- 
ing, “ We are in now, madam, and we maun mak the best o' 
our time ; for doubtless the corporal or the sergeant will gang 
the rounds, and it wad be a pity to hae the poor lad Halliday 
punished for his civility.” 

Morton in the meantime was timidly advancing, suspecting 
the truth ; for what other female in the house excepting Edith 
herself was likely to take an interest in his misfortunes ? and 
yet afraid, owing to the doubtful twilight and the- muffled 
dress, of making some mistake which might be prejudicial to 
the object of his affections. 

Jenny, whose ready wit and forward manners well quali- 
fied her for such an office, hastened to break the ice. “ Mr. 
Morton, Miss Edith's very sorry for your present situation, 
and ■" 

It was needless to say more ; he was at her side, almost at 
her feet, pressing her unresisting hands and loading her with 
a profusion of thanks and gratitude which would be hardly 
intelligible from the mere broken words, unless we could de- 
scribe the tone, the gesture, the impassioned and hurried in- 
dications of deep and tumultuous feeling with which they were 
accompanied. 

For two or three minutes Edith stood as motionless as the 
statue of a saint which receives the adoration of a worshipper ; 
and when she recovered herself sufficiently to withdraw her 
hands from Henry's grasp she could at first only faintly artic- 
ulate, “l have taken a strange step, Mr. Morton— a step/' 
she continued, with more coherence, as her ideas arranged them- 
selves in consequence of a strong effort, “that perhaps may 
expose me to censure in your eyes. But I have long permitted 
you to use the language of friendship — perhaps I might say 
more — too long to leave you when the world seems to have 
left you. How or why is this imprisonment ? what can be 
done ? Can my uncle, who thinks so highly of you — can your 
own kinsman, Milnwood, be of no use ? are there no means ? 
and what is likely to be the event ? " 

“ Be what it will," answered Henry, contriving to make 
himself master of the hand that had escaped from him, but 


96 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


which was now again abandoned to his clasp — “ be what it will, 
it is to me from this moment the most welcome incident of a 
weary life. To you, dearest Edith — forgive me, I should have 
said Miss Bellenden, but misfortune claims strange privi- 
leges — to you I have owed the few happy moments which 
have gilded a gloomy existence ; and if I am now to lay it 
down, the recollection of this honor will be my happiness in 
the last hour of suffering.” 

“ But is it even thus, Mr. Morton ? ” said Miss Bellenden. 
“ Have you, who used to mix so little in these unhappy feuds, 
become so suddenly and deeply implicated that nothing short 

of ” She paused, unable to bring out the word which 

should have come next. 

“ Nothing short of my life, you would say ? ” replied Mor- 
ton, in a calm but melancholy tone ; “ I believe that will be 
entirely in the bosoms of my judges. My guards spoke of a 
possibility of exchanging the penalty for entry into foreign 
service. I thought I could have embraced the alternative ; 
and yet. Miss Bellenden, since I have seen you once more I 
feel that exile would be more galling than death.” 

“ And it is then true,” said Edith, “ that you have been 
so desperately rash as to entertain communication with any of 
those cruel wretches who assassinated the primate ? ” 

“ I knew not even that such a crime had been committed,” 
replied Morton, “when I gave unhappily a night’s lodging 
and concealment to one of those rash and cruel men, the an- 
cient friend and comrade of my father. But my ignorance 
will avail me little ; for who. Miss Bellenden, save jx>u will 
believe it ? And what is worse, I am at least uncertain 
whether, even if I had known the crime, I could have brought 
my mind, under all the circumstances, to refuse a tempo- 
rary refuge to the fugitive.” 

“And by whom,” said Edith, anxiously, “ or under what 
authority will the investigation of your conduct take place ? ” 

“Under that of Colonel Grahame of Claverhouse, I am 
given to understand,” said Morton; “one of the military 
commission, to whom it has pleased our king, our privy coun- 
cil, and our parliament, that used to be more tenacious of our 
liberties, to commit the sole charge of our goods and of our 
lives.” 

“To Claverhouse?” said Edith, faintly; “merciful 
Heaven, you are lost ere you are tried ! He wrote to my 
grandmother that he was to be here to-morrow morning on 
his road to the head of the county, where some desperate 
man, animated by the presence of two or three of the actors 


OLD MORTALITY 


97 


in the primate’s murder, are said to have assembled for the 
purpose of making a stand against the government. His ex- 
pressions made me shudder even when I could not guess that 
— that — a friend ” 

“ Do not be too much alarmed on my account, my dearest 
Edith,” said Henry, as he supported her in his arms ; “ Claver- 
house, though stern and relentless, is, by all accounts, brave, 
fair, and honorable. I am a soldier’s son, and will plead my 
cause like a soldier. He will perhaps listen more favorably to 
a blunt and unvarnished defence than a truckling and time- 
serving judge might do. And, indeed, in a time when justice 
is in all its branches so completely corrupted, I would rather 
lose my life by open military violence than be conjured out of 
it by the hocus-pocus of some arbitrary lawyer, who lends the 
knowledge he has of the statutes, made for our protection, to 
wrest them to our destruction.” 

“ You are lost — you are lost, if you are to plead your cause 
with Claverhouse ! ” sighed Edith ; “ root and branch-work 
is the mildest of his expressions. The unhappy primate was 
his intimate friend and early patron. ‘ No excuse, no sub- 
terfuge,’ said his letter, ‘ shall save either those connected 
with the deed, or such as have given them countenance and 
shelter, from the ample and bitter penalty of the law, until 
I shall have taken as many lives in vengeance of this atrocious 
murder as the old man had gray hairs upon his venerable 
head.’ There is neither ruth nor favor to be found with 
him.” 

Jenny Dennison, who had hitherto remained silent, now 
ventured, in the extremity of distress which the lovers felt, 
but for which they were unable to devise a remedy, to offer 
her own advice. 

“ Wi’your leddyship’s pardon. Miss Edith, and young Mr. 
Morton’s, we maunna waste time. Let Milnwood take my 
plaid and gown ; I’ll slip them aff in the dark corner if he’ll 
promise no to look about, and he may walk past Tam Halli- 
day, who is half blind with his ale, and I can tell him a canny 
way to get out o’ the Tower, and your leddyship will gang 
quietly to your ain room, and I’ll row mysell in his gray cloak 
and pit on his hat, and play the prisoner till the coast’s clear, 
and then I’ll cry in Tam Halliday and gar him let me out.” 

“ Let you out!” said Morton; “they’ll make your life 
answer it.” 

“ Ne’er a hit,” replied Jenny. “ Tam daurna tell he let 
onybody in, for his ain sake ; and I’ll gar him find some other 
gate to account for the escape.” 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


“Will you, by G — ?”said the sentinel, suddenly opening 
the door of the apartment ; “ if I am half blind I am not 
deaf, and you should not plan an escape quite so loud if you 
expect to go through with it. Come, come, Mrs. Janet — 
march, troop — quick time — trot, d — n me! And you, 
madam kinswoman ; I won’t ask your real name, though you 
were going to play me so rascally a trick, but I must make a 
clear garrison ; so beat a retreat, unless you would have me 
turn out the guard.” 

“I hope,” said Morton, very anxiously, “you will not 
mention this circumstance, my good friend, and trust to my 
honor to acknowledge your civility in keeping the secret. 
If you overheard our conversation, you must have observed 
that we did not accept of, or enter into, the hasty proposal 
made by this good-natured girl.” 

“Oh, devilish good-natured to be sure,” said Halliday. 
“ As for the rest, I guess how it is, and I scorn to bear malice 
or tell tales as much as another ; but no thanks to that little 
jilting devil Jenny Dennison, who deserves a tight skelping 
for trying to lead an honest lad into a scrape, just because he 
was so silly as to like her good-for-little chit face.” 

Jenny had no better means of justification than the last 
apology to which her sex trust, and usually not in vain : she 
pressed her handkerchief to her face, sobbed with great vehe- 
mence, and either wept or managed, as Halliday might have 
said, to go through the motions wonderfully well. 

“ And now,” continued the soldier, somewhat mollified, 
“if you have anything to say, say it in two minutes, and let 
me see your backs turned ; for, if Bothwell take it into his 
drunken head to make the rounds half an hour too soon, it 
will be a black business to us all.” 

“ Farewell, Edith,” whispered Morton, assuming a firm- 
ness he was far from possessing ; “ do not remain here ; leave 
me to my fate ; it cannot be beyond endurance since you are 
interested in it. Good-night — good-night ! Do not remain 
here till you are discovered.” 

Thus saying, he resigned her to her attendant, by whom 
she was partly led and partly supported out of the apart- 
ment. 

“ Every one has his taste, to be sure,” said Halliday ; “ but 
d — n me if I would have vexed so sweet a girl as that is for all 
the Whigs that ever swore the Covenant.” 

When Edith had regained her apartment she gave way to 
a burst of grief which alarmed Jenny Dennison, who hastened 
to administer such scraps of consolation as occurred to her. 


OLD MORTALITY 


“ Dinna yex yoursell sae muckle, Miss Edith," said that 
faithful attendant ; “ wha kens what may happen to help young 
Milnwood ? He's a brave lad and a bonny, and a gentleman of 
a good fortune, and they winna string the like o' him up as 
they do the puir Whig bodies that they catch in the muirs like 
straps o' onions. Maybe his uncle will bring him aff, or may- 
be your ain grand-uncle will speak a gude word for him ; he's 
weel acquent wi' a’ the redcoat gentlemen." 

“ You are right, Jenny — you are right," said Edith, re- 
covering herself from the stupor into which she had sunk ; 
“this is no time for despair, but for exertion. You must 
finds ome one to ride this very night to my uncle's with a 
letter." 

“To Charnwood, madam ? It's unco late, and it's sax 
miles an' a bittock doun the water ; I doubt if w r e can find 
man and horse the night, mair especially as they hae mounted 
a sentinel before the gate. Puir Cuddie ! he's gane, puir 
fallow, that wad hae dune aught in the warld I bade him, and 
ne'er asked a reason ; an' I've had nae time to draw up wi' 
the new pleugh-lad yet ; forbye that, they say he's gaun to be 
married to Meg Murdieson, ill-faur'd cuttie as she is." 

“You must find some one to go, Jenny ; life and death 
depend upon it." 

“ I wad gang mysell, my leddy, for I could creep out at the 
window o' the pantry, and speel down by the auld yew-tree weel 
eneugh ; I hae played that trick ere now. But the road's unco 
wild, and sae mony redcoats about, forbye the Whigs, that are 
no muckle better — the young lads o' them — if they meet a 
fraim body their lane in the muirs. I wadna stand for the 
walk ; I can walk ten miles by moonlight weel eneugh." 

“Is there no one you can think of that, for money or 
favor, would serve me so far ?" asked Edith, in great anxiety. 

“ I dinna ken," said Jenny, after a moment’s consider- 
ation, “ unless it be Guse Gibbie ; and he'll maybe no ken 
the way, though it's no sae difficult to hit if he keep the 
horse-road and mind the turn at the Cappercleugh, and dinna 
drown himsell in the Whomlekirn pule, or fa' ower the scaur 
at the Deil's Loaning, or miss ony o' the kittle steps at the 
Pass o' Walk wary, or be carried to the hills by the Whigs, 
or be taen to the tolbooth by the redcoats." 

“ All ventures must be run," said Edith, cutting short 
the list of chances against Goose Gibbie's safe arrival at the 
end of his pilgrimage — “ all risks must be run, unless you 
can find a better messenger. Go, bid the boy get ready, and 
get him out of the Tower as secretly as you can. If he meets 


100 


WAVERLEX NOVELS 


any one, let him say lie is carrying a letter to Major Bellen- 
den of Charnwood, but without mentioning any names.” 

“ I understand, madam,” said Jenny Dennison. “ I war- 
rant the callant will do weel eneugh, and Tib the hen- wife 
will tak care o’ the geese for a word o' my mouth ; and I'll 
tell Gibbie your leddysliip will mak his peace wi’ Lady 
Margaret, and we’ll gie him a dollar.” 

“ Two if he does his errand well,” said Edith. 

Jenny departed to rouse Goose Gibbie out of his slumbers, 
to which he was usually consigned at sundown or shortly 
after, he keeping the hours of the birds under his charge. 
During her absence Edith took her writing materials and 
prepared against her return the following letter, super- 
scribed — 

For the hands of Major Bellenden of Charnwood, my 
much honored uncle. These : 

“ My dear Uncle — This will serve to inform you I am de- 
sirous to know how your gout is, as we did not see you at the 
wappenschaw, which made both my grandmother and myself 
very uneasy. And if it will permit you to travel, we shall 
be happy to see you at our poor house to-morrow at the hour 
of breakfast, as Colonel Grahame of Claverhouse is to pass 
this way on his march, and we would willingly have your 
assistance to receive and entertain a military man of such 
distinction, who probably will not be much delighted with 
the company of women. Also, my dear uncle, I pray you to 
let Mrs. Carefor’t, your housekeeper, send me my double- 
trim med paduasoy with the hanging sleeves, which she will 
find in the third drawer of the walnut press in the green 
room, which you are so kind as to call mine. Also, my dear 
uncle, I pray you to send me the second volume of the Grand 
Cyrus, as I have only read as far as the imprisonment of 
Philidaspes upon the seven hundredth and thirty-third page ; 
but, above all, I entreat you to come to us to-morrow before 
eight of the clock, which, as your pacing nag is so good, you 
may well do without rising before your usual hour. So pray- 
ing to God to preserve your health, I rest your dutiful and 
loving niece, 

“ Edith Bellenden. 

“ Postscriptum . — A party of soldiers have last night 
brought your friend, young Mr. Henry Morton of Milnwood, 
hither as a prisoner. I conclude you will be sorry for the 
young gentleman, and, therefore, let you know this in case 


OLD MORTALITY 


101 


yon may think of speaking to Colonel Grahame in nis behalf. 
I have not mentioned his name to my grandmother, knowing 
her prejudice against the family." 

This epistle being duly sealed and delivered to Jenny, 
that faithful confidante hastened to put the same in the charge 
of Goose Gibbie, whom she found in readiness to start from 
the castle. She then gave him various instructions touching 
the road, which she apprehended he was likely to mistake, 
not having travelled it above five or six times, and possessing 
only the same slender proportion of memory as of judgment. 
Lastly, she smuggled him out of the garrison through the 
pantry window into the branchy yew-tree which grew close 
beside it, and had the satisfaction to see him reach the bot- 
tom in safety and take the right turn at the commencement 
of his journey. She then returned to persuade her young 
mistress to go to bed, and to lull her to rest, if possible, with 
assurances of Gibbie^s success in his embassy, only qualified by 
a passing regret that the trusty Cuddie, with whom the com- 
mission might have been more safely reposed, was no longer 
within reach of serving her. 

More fortunate as a messenger than as a cavalier, it was 
Gibbie's good hap rather than his good management which, 
after he had gone astray not oftener than nine times, and 
given his garments a taste of the variation of each bog, brook, 
anjd slough between Tillietudlem and Charnwood, placed him 
about daybreak before the gate of Major Bellendem’s mansion, 
having completed a walk of ten miles — for the bittock, as 
usual, amounted to four — in little more than the same number 
of hours. 


CHAPTER XI 


At last comes the troop, by the word of command 
Drawn up in our court, where the Captain cries, Stand ! 

Swift. 

Major Bellen'de^s ancient valet, Gideon Pike, as he ad» 
justed his master's clothes by his bedside, preparatory to the 
worthy veteran's toilet, acquainted him, as an apology for 
disturbing him an hour earlier than his usual time of rising, 
that there was an express from Tiliietudlem. 

“ From Tiliietudlem ? " said the old gentleman, rising 
hastily in his bed and sitting bolt upright. ‘ ‘ Open the shut- 
ters, Pike. I hope my sister-in-law is well ; furl up the 
bed-curtain. What have we all here ? [glancing at Edith's 
note]. The gout ! why, she knows I have not had a fit since 
Candlemas. The wappenschaw ! I told her a month since 
I was not to be there. Paduasoy and hanging sleeves ! why, 
hang the gypsy herself ! Grand Cyrus and Philipdastus ! 
Philip Devil ! is the wench gone crazy all at once ? was it worth 
while to send an express and wake me at five in the morning 
for all this trash ? But what says her postscriptum ? Mercy 
on us ! " he exclaimed, on perusing it. “Pike, saddle old 
Kilsyth instantly, and another horse for yourself." 

“ I hope nae ill news frae the Tower, sir ? " said Pike, as- 
tonished at his master’s sudden emotion. 

“ Yes — no — yes — that is, I must meet Claverhouse there 
on some express business ; so boot and saddle, Pike, as fast as 
you can. 0 Lord ! what times are these ! The poor lad, my 
old cronie's son ! and the silly wench sticks it into her post- 
scriptum, as she calls it, at the tail of all this trumpery about 
old gowns and new romances ! " 

In a few minutes the good old officer was fully equipped ; 
and, having mounted upon his arm-gaunt charger as so- 
berly as Mark Antony himself could have done, he paced forth 
his way to the Tower of Tiliietudlem. 

On the road he formed the prudent resolution to say nothing 
to the old lady (whose dislike to Presbyterians of all kinds he 
knew to be inveterate) of the quality and rank of the prisoner 

m 


OLD MORTALITY 


103 


Utflctiued within her walls, but to try his own influence with 
Claverhouse to obtain Morton’s liberation. 

“ Being so loyal as he is, he must do something for so old 
a Cavalier as I am,” said the veteran to himself ; “ and if he 
is so good a soldier as the world speaks of, why, he will be glad 
to serve an old soldier’s son. I never knew a real soldier that 
was not a frank-hearted, honest fellow ; and I think the execu- 
tion of the laws — though it’s a pity they find it necessary to 
make them so severe — may he a thousand times better intrust- 
ed with them than with peddling lawyers and thick-skulled 
country gentlemen.” 

Such were the ruminations of Major Miles Bellenden, 
which were terminated by John Gudyill (not more than half 
drunk) taking hold of his bridle, and assisting him to dismount 
in the rough-paved court of Tillietudlem. 

“ Why, John,” said the veteran, “ what devil of a discipline 
is this you have been keeping ? You have been reading Geneva 
print * this morning already.” 

“ I have been reading the Litany,” said John, shaking his 
head with a look of drunken gravity, and having only caught 
one word of the Major’s address to him. “ Life is short, sir ; 
we are flowers of the field, sir — hiccup — and lilies of the 
valley.” 

“ Flowers and lilies ! Why, man, such carles as thou and I 
can hardly be called better than old hemlocks, decayed nettles, 
or withered ragweed ; but I suppose you think that we are 
still worth watering.” 

“ I am an old soldier, sir, I thank Heaven — hiccup ” 

e( An old skinker, you mean, John. But come, never mind, 
chow me the way to your mistress, old lad.” 

John Gudyill led the way to the stone hall, where Lady 
Margaret w T as fidgeting about, superintending, arranging, and 
re-forming the preparations made for the reception of the cele- 
brated Claverhouse, whom one party honored and extolled as 
a hero, and another execrated as a bloodthirsty oppressor. 

“ Did I not tell you,” said Lady Margaret to her principal 
female attendant — “did I not tell you, Mysie, that it was my 
especial pleasure on this occasion to have everything in the 
precise order wherein it was upon that famous morning when 
his most sacred Majesty partook of his disjune at Tillie- 
tudlem ? ” 

“ Doubtless such were your led dyship’s commands, and to 

the best of my remembrance ” was Mysie answering, 

when her ladyship broke in with, “ Then wherefore is the 

* The Geneva adopted by the Scottish Presbyterians (Lain0). 


104 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


venison pasty placed on the left side of the throne, and the 
stoup of claret upon the right, when ye may right weel re- 
member, Mysie, that his most sacred Majesty with his ain 
hand shifted the pasty to the same side with the flagon, and 
said they were too good friends to be parted ? ” 

“ I mind that weel, madam,” said Mysie; “and if I had 
forgot, I have heard your leddyship often speak about that 
grand morning sin* syne ; but I thought everything was to be 
placed just as it was when his Majesty, God bless him ! came 
into this room, looking mair like an angel than a man if he 
hadna been sae black-a- vised.” 

“ Then ye thought nonsense, Mysie ; for in whatever way 
his most sacred Majesty ordered the position of the trenchers 
and flagons, that, as weel as his royal pleasure in greater 
matters, should be a law to his subjects, and shall ever be to 
those of the house of Tillietudlem.” 

“ Weel, madam,” said Mysie, making the alterations re- 
quired, “ it's easy mending the error; but if everything is 
just to be as his Majesty left it there should be an unco hole in 
the venison pasty.” 

At this moment the door opened. 

“Who is that, John Gudyill ?” exclaimed the old lady. 
“ I can speak to no one just now. Is it you, my dear 
brother ?” she continued, in some surprise, as the Major 
entered; “ this is a right early visit.” 

“ Not more early than welcome, I hope,” replied Major 
Bellenden, as he saluted the widow of his deceased brother ; 
“ but I heard by a note which Edith sent to Charnwood about 
some of her equipage and books that you were to have 
Claver’se here this morning, so I thought, like an old firelock 
as I am, that I should like to have a chat with this rising sol- 
dier. I caused Pike saddle Kilsyth, and here we both are.” 

“ And most kindly welcome you are,” said the old lady ; 
“it is just what I should have prayed you to do if I had 
thought there was time. You see I am busy in preparation. 
All is to be in the same order as when ” 

“ The King breakfasted at Tillietudlem,” said the Major, 
who, like all Lady Margaret’s friends, dreaded the commence- 
ment of that narrative, and was desiious to cut it short. “I 
remember it well , you know I was waiting on his Majesty.” 

“ You were, bi other," said Lady Margaret ; “ and perhaps 
you can help me to remember the order of the entertain - 
ment.” 

“ Nay, good sooth , 9 said the Major, “the damnable din- 
nei that hlol gave ns at Worcester a few days afterwards drove 


OLD MORTALITY 


105 


all your good cheer out of my memory. But how’s this ? you 
have even the great Turkey-leather elbow-chair with the tap- 
estry cushions placed in state.” 

“ The throne, brother, if you please,” said Lady Margaret, 
gravely. 

“ Well, the throne be it, then,” continued the Major. 
“ Is that to be Claver’se’s post in the attack upon the pasty ?” 

“ No, brother,” said the lady; “as these cushions have 
been once honored by accommodating the person of our most 
sacred monarch, they shall never, please Heaven, during my 
lifetime, be pressed by any less dignified weight.” 

“You should not, then,” said the old soldier, “put them 
in the way of an honest old Cavalier who has ridden ten miles 
before breakfast ; for, to confess the truth, they look very in- 
viting. But where is Edith ? ” 

“ On the battlements of the warder’s turret,” answered the 
old lady, “ looking out for the approach of our guests.” 

“Why, I’ll go there too ; and so should you. Lady Mar- 
garet, as soon as you have your line of battle properly formed 
in the hall here. It’s a pretty thing, I can tell you, to see a 
regiment of horse upon the march.” 

Thus speaking, he offered his arm with an air of old-fash- 
ioned gallantry, which Lady Margaret accepted with such a 
courtesy of acknowledgment as ladies were wont to make in 
Holyrood House before the year 1642, which, for one while, 
drove both courtesies and courts out of fashion. 

Upon the bartizan of the turret, to which they ascended 
by many a winding passage and uncouth staircase, they found 
Edith, not in the attitude of a young lady who watches with 
fluttering curiosity the approach of a smart regiment of 
dragoons, but pale, downcast, and evincing by her counte- 
nance that sleep had not during the preceding night been the 
companion of her pillow. The good old veteran was hurt 
at her appearance, which, in the hurry of prepaiation, her 
grandmother had omitted to notice. 

“ What is come over you, you silly girl ?” he said ; “ why, 
you look like an officer’s wife when she opens the news-letter 
after an action and expects to find her husband among the 
killed and wounded. But I know the reason : you will per- 
sist in reading these nonsensical romances day and night, and 
whimpering for distresses that never existed: Why, how the 
devil can you believe that Artamines, or what d’ye call him, 
fought single-handed with a whole battalion i One to three 
is as great odds as ever fought and won, and I never knew any- 
body that cared to take that except old Corporal Raddle banes 


106 


WaVERLEY novels 


But these d — d books put all pretty men’s actions out of coun- 
tenance. I dare say you would think very little of Raddlebanes 
if he were alongside of Artamines. I would have the fellows 
that write such nonsense brought to the picquet for leasing- 
making.” * 

Lady Margaret, herself somewhat attached to the perusal 
of romances, took up the cudgels. 

“ Monsieur Scuderi,”she said, “ is a soldier, brother ; and, 
as I have heard, a complete one, and so is the Sieur d’TJrfe.” 

“ More shame for them ; they should have known better 
what they were writing about. For my part, I have not read 
a book these twenty years, except my Bible, The Whole Duty 
of Man, and of late days. Turner’s Pallas Armata, or Treatise 
on the Ordering of the Pilce Exercise, f and I don’t like his 
discipline much neither. He wants to draw up the cavalry in 
front of a stand of pikes, instead of being upon the wings. 
Sure am I, if we had done so at Kilsyth, instead of having our 
handful of horse on the flanks, the first discharge would have 
sent them back among our Highlanders. But I hear the ket- 
tle-drums.” 

All heads were now bent from the battlements of the tur- 
ret which commanded a distant prospect down the vale of the 
river. The Tower of Tillietudlem stood, or perhaps yet 
stands, upon the angle of a very precipitous bank, formed by 
the junction of a considerable brook with the Clyde. \ There 
was a narrow bridge of one steep arch across the brook near 
its mouth, over which, and along the foot of the high and 
broken bank, winded the public road ; and the fortalice, thus 
commanding both bridge and pass, had been in times of war 
a post of considerable importance, the possession of which was 
necessary to secure the communication of the upper and wilder 
districts of the country with those beneath, where the valley 
expands and is more capable of cultivation. The view down- 
wards is of a grand woodland character ; but the level ground 
and gentle slopes near the river form cultivated fields of an 
irregular shape, interspersed with hedgerow trees and copses, 
the enclosures seeming to have been individually cleared out 
of the forest which surrounds them, and which occupies in 
unbroken masses the steeper declivities and more distant 
banks. The stream, in color a clear and sparkling brown, 
like the hue of the Cairngorm pebbles, rushes through this 
romantic region in bold sweeps and curves, partly visible and 

* See Romances of the Seventeenth Century. Note 17. 

t See Sir James Turner. Note 18. 

$ See Tillietudlem Castle. Note 19. 


OLD MORTALITY 


107 


partly concealed by the trees which clothe its banks. With 
a providence unknown in other parts of Scotland, the peasants 
have in most places planted orchards around their cottages, 
and the general blossom of the apple-trees at this season of 
the year gave all the lower part of the view the appearance of 
a flower-garden. 

Looking up the river, the character of the scene was varied 
considerably for the worse. A hilly, waste, and uncultivated 
country approached close to the banks ; the trees were few 
and limited to the neighborhood of the stream, and the rude 
moors swelled at a little distance into shapeless and heavy 
hills, which were again surmounted in their turn by a range 
of lofty mountains dimly seen on the horizon. Thus the 
tower commanded two prospects, the one richly cultivated 
and highly adorned, the other exhibiting the monotonous 
and dreary character of a wild and inhospitable moorland. 

The eyes of the spectators on the present occasion were 
attracted to*' the downward view, not alone by its superior 
beauty, but because the distant sounds of military music be- 
gan to be heard from the public high-road which winded up 
the vale and announced the approach of the expected body 
of cavalry. Their glimmering ranks were shortly afterwards 
seen in the distance, appearing and disappearing as the trees 
and the windings of the road permitted them to be visible, 
and distinguished chiefly by the flashes of light which their 
arms occasionally reflected against the sun. The train was 
long and imposing, for there were about two hundred and 
fifty horse upon the march, and the glancing of the swords 
and waving of their banners, joined to the clang of their 
trumpets and kettle-drums, had at once a lively and awful 
effect upon the imagination. As they advanced still nearer 
and nearer, they could distinctly see the files of those chosen 
troops following each other in long succession, completely 
equipped and superbly mounted. 

“ It’s a sight that makes me thirty years younger,” said 
the old cavalier ; “ and yet I do not much like the service that 
these poor fellows are to be engaged in. Although I had my 
share of the civil war, I cannot say I had ever so much real 
pleasure in that sort of service as when I was employed on the 
Continent, and we were hacking at fellows with foreign faces 
and outlandish dialect. It's a hard thing to hear a hamely 
Scotch tongue cry ‘ Quarter/ and be obliged to cut him 
down just the same as if he called out * Miserioorde / So 
there they come through the Netherwood haugh ; upon my 
word, fine-looking fellows and capitally mounted. He that is 


108 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


galloping from the rear of the column must be Claver'se him- 
self ; ay, he gets into the front as they cross the bridge, and 
now they will be with us in less than five minutes.” 

At the bridge beneath the tower the cavalry divided, and 
the greater part, moving up the left bank of the brook and 
crossing at a ford a little above, took the road of the Grange, 
as it was called, a large set of farm-offices belonging to the 
Tower, where Lady Margaret had ordered preparation to be 
made for their reception and suitable entertainment. The 
officers alone, with their colors and an escort to guard them, 
were seen to take the steep road up to the gate of the Tower, 
appearing by intervals as they gained the ascent, and again 
hidden by projections of the bank and of the huge old trees 
with which it is covered. When they emerged from this 
narrow path they found themselves in front of the old Tower, 
the gates of which were hospitably open for their reception. 
Lady Margaret, with Edith and her brother-in-law, having 
hastily descended from their post of observation, appeared to 
meet and to welcome their guests, with a retinue of domestics in 
as good order as the orgies of the preceding evening permit- 
ted. The gallant young cornet (a relation as well as namesake 
of Claverhouse, with whom the reader has been already made 
acquainted) lowered the standard, amid the fanfare of the 
trumpets, in homage to the rank of Lady Margaret and the 
charms of her granddaughter, and the old walls echoed to 
the flourish of the instruments and the stamp and neigh of 
the chargers. 

Claverhouse * himself alighted from a black horse, the 
most beautiful, perhaps, in Scotland. He had not a single 
white hair upon his whole body, a circumstance which, joined 
to his spirit and. fleetness, and to his being so frequently em- 
ployed in pursuit of the Presbyterian recusants, caused an 
opinion to prevail among them that the steed had been pre- 
sented to his rider by the great Enemy of Mankind in order 
to assist him in persecuting the fugitive wanderers. When 
Claverhouse had paid his respects to the ladies with military 
politeness, had apologized for the trouble to which he was 
putting Lady Margaret's family, and had received the cor- 
responding assurances that she could not think anything an 
inconvenience which brought within the walls of Tillietudlem 
so distinguished a soldier and so loyal a servant of his sacred 
Majesty , when, in short, all forms of hospitable and polite 
ritual had been duly complied with, the Colonel requested 
permission to receive the report of Both well, who was now in 
♦ See John Grahame of Claverhouse, Note 30, 


OLD MORTALITY 


109 


attendance, and with whom he spoke apart for a few minutes. 
Major Bellenden took that opportunity to say to his niece, 
without the hearing of her grandmother, “ What a trifling 
foolish girl you are, Edith, to send me by express a letter 
crammed with nonsense about books and gowns, and to slide 
the only thing I cared a marvedi about into the postscript !” 

“ I did not know,” said Edith, hesitating very much, 
“ whether it would be quite — quite proper for me to ” 

“ I know what you would say — whether it would be right 
to t t ake any interest in a Presbyterian. But I knew this lad’s 
father well. He was a brave soldier ; and if he was once 
wrong, he was once right too. I must commend your caution, 
Edith, fo$ having said nothing of this young gentleman’s 
affair to your grandmother ; you may rely on it I shall not. 
I will take an opportunity to speak to Claver’se. Come, my 
love, they are going to breakfast. Let us follow them.” 


CHAPTER XII 


Their breakfast so warm to be sure they did eat, 

A custom in travellers mighty discreet. 

Prior. 

The breakfast of Lady Margaret Bellenden no more resem- 
bled a modem dejeune than the great stone hall at Tillie- 
tudlem could brook comparison with a modern drawing-room. 
No tea, no coffee, no variety of rolls, but solid and substan- 
tial viands — the priestly ham, the knightly sirloin, the noble 
baron of beef, the princely venison pasty ; while silver flagons, 
saved with difficulty from the claws of the Covenanters, now 
mantled, some with ale, some with mead, and some with 
generous wine of various qualities and descriptions. The 
appetites of the guests were in correspondence to the mag- 
nificence and solidity of the preparation — no piddling, no 
boy's play, but that steady and persevering exercise of the 
jaws which is best learned by early morning hours and by 
occasional hard commons. 

Lady Margaret beheid with delight the cates which she 
had provided descending with such alacrity into the persons 
of her honored guests, and had little occasion to exercise, with 
respect to any of the company, saving Claverhouse himself, 
the compulsory urgency of pressing to eat, to which, as to 
the peine forte et dure, the ladies of that period were in the 
custom of subjecting their guests. 

But the leader himself, more anxious to pay courtesy to 
Miss Bellenden, next whom he was placed, than to gratify 
his appetite, appeared somewhat negligent of the good cheer 
set before him. Edith heard without reply many courtly 
speeches addressed to her in a tone of voice of that happy 
modulation which could alike, melt in the low tones of inter- 
esting conversation and rise amid the din of battle “ loud as 
a. trumpet with a silver sound." The sense that she was in 
the presence of the dreadful chief upon whose fiat the fate 
of Henry Morton must depend, the recollection of the terror 
and awe which were attached to the very name of the com- 
jnaii<jler ; deprived her for some time, not only of the courage 

m 


* 



OLD MORTALITY 


111 


to answer, but even of the power of looking upon him. But 
when, emboldened by the soothing tones of his voice, she 
lifted her eyes to frame some reply, the person on whom she 
looked bore, in his appearance at least, none of the terrible 
attributes in which her apprehensions had arrayed him. 

Grahame of Claverhouse was in the prime of life, rather 
low of stature, and slightly, though elegantly, formed ; his 
gesture, language, and manners were those of one whose life 
had been spent among the noble and the gay. His features 
exhibited even feminine regularity. An oval face, a straight 
and well-formed nose, dark hazel eyes, a complexion just suf- 
ficiently tinged with brown to save it from the charge of ef- 
feminacy, a short upper lip, curved upward like that of a Gre- 
cian statue, and slightly shaded by small mustacliios of light 
brown, joined to a profusion of long curled locks of the same 
color, which fell down on each side of his face, contributed 
to form such a countenance as limners love to paint and ladies 
to look upon. 

The severity of his character, as well as the higher attri- 
butes of undaunted and enterprising valor, which even his 
enemies were compelled to admit, lay concealed under an ex- 
terior which seemed adapted to the court or the saloon rather 
than to the field. The same gentleness and gayety of expres- 
sion which reigned in his features seemed to inspire his actions 
and gestures ; and, on the whole, he was generally esteemed 
at first sight rather qualified to be the votary of pleasure than 
of ambition. But under this soft exterior was hidden a spirit 
unbounded in daring and in aspiring, yet cautious and pru- 
dent as that of Machiavel himself. Profound in politics, and 
imbued, of course, with that disregard for individual rights 
which its intrigues usually generate, this leader was cool and 
collected in danger, fierce and ardent in pursuing success, 
careless of facing death himself, and ruthless in inflicting it 
upon others. Such are the characters formed in times of civil 
discord, when the highest qualities, perverted by party spirit 
and inflamed by habitual opposition, are too often combined 
with vices and excesses which deprive them at once of their 
merit and of their lustre. 

In endeavoring to reply to the polite trifles with which 
Claverhouse accosted her, Edith showed so much confusion 
that her grandmother thought it necessary to come to her 
relief. 

“ Edith Bellenden,” said the old lady, “ has, from my re- 
tired mode of living, seen so little of those of her own sphere 
that truly she can hardly frame her speech to suitable answers, 

~ > 


112 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


A soldier is so rare a sight with us, Colonel Grahame, that, 
unless it be my young Lord Evandale, we have hardly had an 
opportunity of receiving a gentleman in uniform. And now 
I talk of that excellent young nobleman, may I inquire if I 
was not to have had the honor of seeing him this morning 
with the regiment ? ” 

“Lord Evandale, madam, was on his march with us,” an- 
swered the leader, “ but I was obliged to detach him with a 
small party to disperse a conventicle of those troublesome 
scoundrels, who have had the impudence to assemble within 
five miles of my headquarters.” 

“Indeed!” said the old lady; “that is a height of pre- 
sumption to which I would have thought no rebellious fanatics 
would have ventured to aspire. But these are strange times ! 
There is an evil spirit in the land. Colonel Grahame, that ex 
cites the vassals of persons of rank to rebel against the very 
house that holds and feeds them. There was one of my able- 
bodied men the other day who plainly refused to attend the 
wappenschaw at my bidding. Is there no law for such recu- 
sancy, Colonel Grahame ? ” 

“I think I could find one,” said Claverhouse, with great 
composure, “ if your ladyship will inform me of the name and 
residence of the culprit.” 

“His name,” said Lady Margaret, “is Cuthbert Head- 
rigg ; I can say nothing of his domicile, for ye may weel be- 
lieve, Colonel Grahame, he did not dwell long in Tillietudlem, 
but was speedily expelled for his contumacy. I wish the lad 
no severe bodily injury ; but incarceration, or even a few 
stripes, would be a good example in this neighborhood. His 
mother, under whose influence I doubt he acted, is an ancient 
domestic of this family, which makes me incline to mercy ; 
although,” continued the old lady, looking towards the pic- 
tures of her husband and her sons, with which the wall was 
hung, and heaving at the same time a deep sigh, “ I, Colonel 
Grahame, have in my ain person but little right to compas- 
sionate that stubborn and rebellious generation. They have 
made me a childless widow, and, but for the protection of our 
sacred Sovereign and his gallant soldiers, they would soon de- 
prive me of lands and goods, of hearth and altar. Seven of 
my tenants, whose joint rent-mail may mount to well-nigh a 
hundred merks, have already refused to pay either cess or 
rent, and had the assurance to tell my steward that they would 
acknowledge neither king nor landlord but who should have 
taken the Covenant.” 

“ I will take a course with them — that is, with your lady- 



Graham of Claverhoass, 






OLD MORTALITY 


113 


ship’s permission/’ answered Claverhouse ; “ it would ill be- 
come me to neglect the support of lawful authority when it is 
lodged in such worthy hands as those of Lady Margaret Bel- 
lenden. But I must needs say, this country grows worse and 
worse daily, and reduces me to the necessity of taking meas- 
ures with the recusants that are much more consonant with 
my duty than with my inclinations. And speaking of this, I 
must not forget that I have to thank your ladyship for the 
hospitality you have been pleased to extend to a party of mine 
who have brought in a prisoner charged with having resetted 
the murdering villain, Balfour of Burley.” 

“ The house of Tillietudlem,” answered the lady, “ hath 
ever been open to the servants of his Majesty, and I hope that 
the stones of it will no longer rest on each other when it sur- 
ceases to be as much at their command as at ours. And this re- . 
minds me, Colonel Grahame, that the gentleman who commands 
the party can hardly be said to be in his proper place in the 
army, considering whose blood flows in his veins ; and if 1 
might flatter myself that anything would be granted to my 
request, I would presume to entreat that he might be pro- 
moted on some favorable opportunity.” 

“ Your ladyship means Sergeant Francis Stewart, whom we 
call Both well ? ” said Claverhouse, smiling. “ The truth is,he 
is a little too rough in the country, and has not been uniformly 
so amenable to discipline as the rules of the service require. 
But to instruct me how to oblige Lady Margaret Bellenden is 
to lay down the law to me. Bothwell,” he continued, ad- 
dressing the sergeant, who just then appeared at the door, “ go 
kiss Lady Margaret Bellenden’s hand, who interests herself in 
your promotion, and you shall have a commission the first va- 
cancy.” 

Bothwell went through the salutation in the manner pre- 
scribed, but not without evident marks of haughty reluctance, 
and when he had done so, said aloud, “ To kiss a lady’s hand 
can never disgrace a gentleman ; but I would not kiss a man’s, 
save the king’s, to be made a general.” 

“ You hear him,” said Claverhouse, smiling, “ there’s the 
rock he splits upon : he cannot forget his pedigree.” 

“ I know, my noble colonel,” said Bothwell, in the same 
tone, “ that you will not forget your promise ; and then per- 
haps you may permit Cornet Stewart to have some recollec- 
tion of his grandfather, though the Sergeant must forget 
him.” 

“ Enough of this, sir,” said Claverhouse, in the tone of 


114 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


command which was familiar to him, “and let me know what 
you came to report to me just now.” 

“ My Lord Evandale and his party have halted on the high- 
road with some prisoners,” said Bothwell. 

“My Lord Evandale ?” said Lady Margaret. “Surely, 
Colonel Grahame, you will permit him to honor me with his 
society, and to take his poor disjune here, especially consider- 
ing that even his most sacred Majesty did not pass the Tower 
of Tillietudlem without halting to partake of some refresh- 
ment.” 

As this was the third time in the course of the conversation 
that Lady Margaret had adverted to this distinguished event. 
Colonel Grahame, as speedily as politeness would permit, took 
advantage of the first pause to interrupt the further progress 
of the narrative, by saying, “ We are already too numerous a 
party of guests ; but as I know what Lord Evandale will suffer 
[looking towards Edith] if deprived of the pleasure which we 
enjoy, I will run the risk of overburdening your ladyship’s 
hospitality. Bothwell, let Lord Evandale know that Lady 
Margaret Bellenden requests the honor of his company.” 

“ And let Harrison take care,” added Lady Margaret, 
“that the people and their horses are suitably seen to.” 

Edith’s heart sprung to her lips during this conversation ; 
for it instantly occurred to her that, through her influence over 
Lord Evandaie, she might find some means of releasing Morton 
from his present state of danger, incase her uncle’s intercession 
with Claverhouse should prove ineffectual. At any other time 
she would have been much averse to exert this influence ; for, 
however inexperienced in the world, her native delicacy taught 
her the advantage which a beautiful young woman gives to a 
young man when she permits him to lay her under an obliga- 
tion. And she would have been the further disinclined to re- 
quest any favor of Lord Evandale, because the voice of the 
gossips in Clydesdale had, for reasons hereafter to be made 
known, assigned him to her as a suitor, and because she could 
not disguise from herself that very little encouragement was 
necessary to realize conjectures which had hitherto no founda- 
tion. This was the more to be dreaded that, in the case of 
Lord Evandale’s making a formal declaration, he had every 
chance of being supported by the influence of Lady Margaret 
and her other friends, and that she would have nothing to oppose 
to their solicitations and authority, except a predilection, to 
avow which she knew would be equally dangerous and unavail- 
ing. She determined, therefore, to wait the issue of her un- 
cle’s intercession, and should it fail, which she conjectured she 


OLD MORTALITY 


115 


should soon learn, either from the looks or language of the 
open-hearted veteran, she would then, as a last effort, make 
use in Morton’s favor of her interest with Lord Evandale. 
Her mind did not long remain in suspense on the subject of 
her uncle’s application. 

Major Bellenden, who had done the honors of the table, 
laughing and chatting with the military guests who were at 
that end of the board, was now, by the conclusion of the repast, 
at liberty to leave his station, and accordingly took an oppor- 
tunity to approach Claverhouse, requesting from his niece, 
at the same time, the honor of a particular introduction. As 
his name and character were well known, the two military men 
met with expressions of mutual regard; and Edith, with a 
beating heart, saw her aged relative withdraw from the com- 
pany, together with his new acquaintance, into a recess formed 
by one of the arched windows of the hall. She watched their 
conference with eyes almost dazzled by the eagerness of suspense, 
and, with observation rendered more acute by the internal 
agony of her mind, could guess from the pantomimic gestures 
which accompanied the conversation the progress and fate of 
the intercession in behalf of Henry Morton. 

The first expression of the countenance of Claverhouse 
betokened that open and willing courtesy which, ere it requires 
to know the nature of the favor asked, seems to say, how 
happy the party will be to confer an obligation on the suppliant. 
But as the conversation proceeded the brow of that officer 
became darker and more severe, and his features, though still 
retaining the expression of the most perfect politeness, as- 
sumed, at least to Edith’s terrified imagination, a harsh and 
inexorable character. His lip was now compressed as if with 
impatience, now curled slightly upward, as if in civil con- 
tempt of the arguments urged by Major Bellenden. The 
language of her uncle, as far as expressed in his manner, ap- 
peared to be that of earnest intercession, urged with all the 
affectionate simplicity of his character, as well as with the 
weight which his age and reputation entitled him to use. But 
it seemed to have little impression upon Colonel Grahame, 
who soon changed his posture, as if about to cut short the 
Major’s importunitjq and to break up their conference with 
a courtly expression of regret, calculated to accompany a posi- 
tive refusal of the request solicited. This movement brought 
them so near Edith that she could distinctly hear Claverhouse 
say, “ It cannot be, Major Bellenden ; lenity, in his case, is 
altogether beyond the bounds of my commission, though in 
anything else I am heartily desirous to oblige you. And here 


116 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


comes Evandale with news, as I think. What tidings do you 
bring us, Evandale?” he continued, addressing the young 
lord, who now entered in complete uniform, but with his 
dress disordered and his boots spattered, as if by riding hard. 

“ Unpleasant news, sir,” was his reply. “ A large body 
of Whigs are in arms among the hills, and have broken out 
into actual rebellion. They have publicly burnt the Act of 
Supremacy, that which established episcopacy, that for ob- 
serving the martyrdom of Charles I., and some others, and 
have declared their intention to remain together in arms for 
furthering the covenanted work of reformation.” 

This unexpected intelligence struck a sudden and painful 
surprise into the minds of all who heard it, excepting Claver- 
house. 

“ Unpleasant news call you them ?” replied Colonel Gra- 
hame, his dark eyes flashing fire ; “ they are the best I have 
heard these six months. Now that the scoundrels are drawn 
into a body, we will make short work with them. When the 
adder crawls into daylight,” he added, striking the heel of his 
boot upon the floor, as if in the act of crushing a noxious rep- 
tile, “I can trample him to death ; he is only safe when he 
remains lurking in his den or morass. Where are these 
knaves ? ” he continued, addressing Lord Evandale. 

“ About ten miles off among the mountains, at a place 
called Loudon Hill,” was the young nobleman’s reply. “ I 
dispersed the conventicle against which you sent me, and 
made prisoner an old trumpeter of rebellion — an intercom- 
muned minister, that is to say— who was in the act of exhort- 
ing his hearers to rise and be doing in the good cause, as well 
as one or two of his hearers who seemed to be particularly in- 
solent ; and from some country people and scouts I learned 
what I now tell you.” 

“What may be their strength ?” asked his commander. 

“ Probably a thousand men ; but accounts differ widely.” 

“ Then,” said Claverhouse, “ it is time for us to be up and 
be doing also. Bothwell, bid them sound to horse.” 

Both well, who, like the war-horse of Scripture, snuffed the 
battle afar off, hastened to give orders to six negroes in white 
dresses richly laced, and having massive silver collars and arm- 
lets. These sable functionaries acted as trumpeters, and 
speedily made the castle and the woods around it ring with 
their summons. 

“Must you then leave us?” said Lady Margaret, her 
heart sinking under recollection of former unhappy times ; 
“ had ye not better send to learn the force of the rebels ? 


OLD MORTALITY 


117 


0, how many a fair face hae I heard these fearful* sounds call 
away frae the Tower of Tillietudlem that my auld een were 
ne*er to see return to it ! ** 

“ It is impossible for me to stop/* said Claverhouse ; 
“ there are rogues enough in this country to make the rebels 
five times their strength if they are not checked at once.** 

“ Many/* said Evandale, “ are flocking to them already, 
and they give out that they expect a strong body of the in- 
dulged Presbyterians, headed by young Milnwood, as they 
call him, the son of the famous old Roundhead, Colonel Silas 
Morton.** 

This speech produced a very different effect upon the 
hearers. Edith almost sunk from her seat with terror, while 
Claverhouse darted a glance of sarcastic triumph at Major 
Bellenden, which seemed to imply, “ You see what are the 
principles of the young man you are pleading for.** 

“ IPs a lie — it*s a d — d lie of these rascally fanatics/* said 
the Major, hastily. “ I will answer for Henry Morton as I 
would for my own son. He is a lad of as good church principles 
as any gentleman in the Life Guards. I mean no offence to 
any one. He has gone to church service with me fifty times, 
and I never heard him miss one of the responses in my life. 
Edith Bellenden can hear witness to it as well as I. He al- 
ways read on the same Prayer Book with her, and could look 
out the lessons as well as the curate himself. Call him up ; 
let him be heard for himself.** 

“ There can be no harm in that/* said Claverhouse, 
“ whether he be innocent or guilty. Major Allan/* he said, 
turning to the officer next in command, “ take a guide, and 
lead the regiment forward to Loudon Hill by the best and 
shortest road. Move steadily, and do not let the men blow 
the horses ; Lord Evandale and I will overtake you in a quar- 
ter of an hour. Leave Bothwell with a party to bring up 
the prisoners.** 

Allan bowed and left the apartment with all the officers, 
excepting Claverhouse and the young nobleman. In a few 
minutes the sound of the military music and the clashing of 
hoofs announced that the horsemen were leaving the castle. 
The sounds were presently heard only at intervals, and soon 
died away entirely. 

While Claverhouse endeavored to soothe the terrors of 
Lady Margaret, and to reconcile the veteran Major to his 
opinion of Morton, Evandale, getting the better of that con- 
scious shyness which renders an ingenuous youth diffident in 
approaching the object of his affections, drew near to Miss 


118 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


Bellenden and accosted her in a tone of mingled respect and 
interest. 

“ We are to leave you,” he said, taking her hand, which 
he pressed with much emotion — “to leave you for a scene 
which is not without its dangers. Farewell, dear Miss Bel- 
lenden ; let me say for the first and perhaps the last time, 
dear Edith! We part in circumstances so singular as may 
excuse some solemnity in bidding farewell to one whom I 
have known so long and whom I — respect so highly.” 

The manner, differing from the words, seemed to express 
a feeling much deeper and more agitating than was conveyed 
in the phrase he made use of. It was not in woman to be 
utterly insensible to his modest and deep-felt expression of 
tenderness. Although borne down by the misfortunes and 
imminent danger of the man she loved, Edith was touched 
by the hopeless and reverential passion of the gallant youth 
who now took leave of her to rush into dangers of no ordinary 
description. 

“ I hope — I sincerely trust,” she said, “ there is no danger. 
I hope there is no occasion for this solemn ceremonial ; that 
these hasty insurgents will be dispersed rather by fear than 
force, and that Lord Evandale will speedily return to be what 
he must always be, the dear and valued friend of all in this 
castle.” 

“ Of all f 99 he repeated, with a melancholy emphasis upon 
the word. “But be it so ; whatever is near you is dear and 
valued to me, and I value their approbation accordingly. 
Of our success I am not sanguine. Our numbers are so few 
that I dare not hope for so speedy, so bloodless, or so safe an 
end of this unhappy disturbance. These men are enthusias- 
tic, resolute, and desperate, and have leaders not altogether 
unskilled in military matters. I cannot help thinking that 
the impetuosity of our Colonel is hurrying us against them 
rather prematurely. But there are few that have less reason 
to shun danger than I have.” 

Edith had now the opportunity she wished to bespeak the 
young nobleman's intercession and protection for Henry Mor- 
ton, and it seemed the only remaining channel of interest by 
which he could be rescued from impending destruction. 
Yet she felt at that moment as if, in doing so, she was abus- 
ing the partiality and confidence of the lover whose heart was 
as open before her as if his tongue had made an express dec- 
laration. Could she with honor engage Lord Evandale in 
the service of a rival ? or could she with prudence make him 
finy request, or lay herself under any obligation to him, with*- 


OLD MORTALITY 


119 


out affording ground for hopes which she could never realize? 
But the moment was too urgent for hesitation, or even for 
those explanations with which her request might otherwise 
have been qualified. 

“ I will but dispose of this young fellow,” said Claverhouse 
from the other side of the hall, “ and then, Lord Evandale — 
1 am sorry to interrupt again your conversation — but then 
we must mount. Both well, why do not you bring up the 
prisoner ? and, hark ye, let two files load their carabines.” 

In these words Edith conceived she heard the death-war- 
rant of her lover. She instantly broke through the restraint 
which had hitherto kept her silent. 

“My Lord Evandale,” she said, “this young gentleman is 
a particular friend of my uncle’s ; your interest must be great 
with your Colonel ; let me request your intercession in his 
favor ; it will confer on my uncle a lasting obligation.” 

“ You overrate my interest, Miss Bellenden,” said Lord 
Evandale ; “I have been often unsuccessful in such applica- 
tions when I have made them on the mere score of humanity.” 
“Yet try once again for my uncle’s sake.” 

“ And why not for your own ? ” said Lord Evandale. 
“ Will you not allow me to think I am obliging you personally 
in this matter ? Are you so diffident of an old friend that 
you will not allow him even the satisfaction of thinking that 
he is gratifying your wishes ? ” 

“ Surely, surely,” replied Edith ; “ you will oblige me in- 
finitely. I am interested in the young gentleman on my 
uncle’s account. Lose no time for God’s sake ! ” 

She became bolder and more urgent in her entreaties, for 
she heard the steps of the soldiers who were entering with 
their prisoner. 

“By heaven ! then,” said Evandale, “he shall not die if 
I should die in his place ! But will not you,” he said, re- 
suming the hand which in the hurry of her spirits she had 
not courage to withdraw — “ will not you grant me one suit 
in return for my zeal in your service ? ” 

“ Anything you can ask, my Lord Evandale, that sisterly 
affection can give.” 

“And is this all,” he continued — “all you can grant to 
my affection living, or my memory when dead ? ” 

“ Do not speak thus, my lord,” said Edith, “ you distress 
me, and do injustice to yourself. There is no friend I esteem 
more highly, or to whom I would more readily grant every 

mark of regard — providing — but ” 

A deep sigh made her turn her head suddenly ere she had 


120 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


well uttered the last word ; and as she hesitated how to frame 
the exception with which she meant to close the sentence, she 
became instantly aware she had been overheard by Morton, 
who, heavily ironed and guarded by soldiers, was now passing 
behind her in order to be presented to Claverhouse. As their 
eyes met each other, the sad and reproachful expression of 
Morton's glance seemed to imply that he had partially heard 
and altogether misinterpreted "the conversation which had 
just passed. There wanted but this to complete Edith's dis- 
tress and confusion. Her blood, which rushed to her brow, 
made a sudden revulsion to her heart, and left her as pale as 
death. This change did not escape the attention of Evan- 
dale, whose quick glance easily discovered that there was be- 
tween the prisoner and the object of his own attachment some 
singular and uncommon connection. He resigned the hand 
of Miss Bellenden, again surveyed the prisoner with more 
attention, again looked at Edith, and plainly observed the 
confusion which she could no longer conceal. 

“ This," he said, after a moment's gloomy silence, “ is, I 
believe, the young gentleman who gained the prize at the 
shooting match." 

“ I am not sure," hesitated Edith ; “yet — I rather think 
not," scarce knowing what she replied. 

“ It is he," said Evandale, decidedly ; “I know him well. 
A victor," he continued, somewhat haughtily, “ought to have 
interested a fair spectator more deeply." 

He then turned from Edith, and advancing towards the 
table at which Claverhouse now placed himself, stood at a little 
distance, resting on his sheathed broadsword, a silent, but not 
an unconcerned, spectator of that which passed. 


CHAPTER XIII 


O, my Lord, beware of jealousy ! 

Othello. 

To explain the deep effect which the few broken passages of 
the conversation we have detailed made upon the unfortunate 
prisoner by whom they were overheard, it is necessary to say 
something of his previous state of mind, and of the origin of 
his acquaintance with Edith. 

Henry Morton was one of those gifted characters which 
possess a force of talent unsuspected by the owner himself. 
He had inherited from his father an undaunted courage and 
a firm and uncompromising detestation of oppression, whether 
in politics or religion. But his enthusiasm was unsullied by 
fanatic zeal and unleavened by the sourness of the Puritan- 
ical spirit. From these his mind had been freed, partly by 
the active exertions of his own excellent understanding, partly 
by frequent and long visits at Major Bellendem’s, wheie he 
had an opportunity of meeting with many guests whose con- 
versation taught him that goodness and worth were not lim- 
ited to those of any single form of religious observance. 

The base parsimony of his uncle had thrown many obstacles 
in the way of his education ; but he had so far improved the 
opportunities which offered themselves, that his instructors 
as well as his friends were surprised at his progress under such 
disadvantages. Still, however, the current of his soul was 
frozen by a sense of dependence, of poverty, above all, of an 
imperfect and limited education. These feelings impressed 
him with a diffidence and reserve which effectually concealed 
from all but very intimate friends the extent of talent and the 
firmness of character which we have stated him to be pos- 
sessed of. The circumstances of the times had added to this 
reserve an air of indecision and of indifference ; for, being 
attached to neither of the factions which divided the kingdom, 
he passed for dull, insensible, and uninfluenced by the feeling 
of religion or of patriotism. No conclusion, however, could 
be more unjust ; and the reasons of the neutrality which he 
had hitherto professed had root in very different and most 
praiseworthy motives. He had formed few congenial ties 


122 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


with those who were the objects of persecution, and was dis- 
gusted alike by their narrow-minded and selfish party spirit, 
their gloomy fanaticism, their abhorrent condemnation of all 
elegant studies or innocent exercises, and the envenomed 
rancor of their political hatred. But his mind was still more 
revolted by the tyrannical and oppressive conduct of the govern- 
ment, the misrule, license, and brutality of the soldiery, the 
(^executions on the scaffold, the slaughters in the open field, 
the free quarters and exactions imposed by military law, 
which placed the lives and fortunes of a free people on a level 
with Asiatic slaves. Condemning, therefore, each party as 
its excesses fell under his eyes, disgusted with the sight of 
evils which he had no means of alleviating, and hearing 
alternate complaints and exultations with which he could not 
sympathize, he would long ere this have left Scotland had it 
not been for his attachment to Edith Bellenden. 

The earlier meetings of these young people had been at 
Oharnwood, when Major Bellenden, who was as free from sus- 
picion on such occasions as Uncle Toby himself, had encour- 
aged their keeping each other constant company without 
entertaining any apprehension of the natural consequences. 
Love, as usual in such cases, borrowed the name of friend- 
ship, used her language, and claimed her privileges. When 
Edith Bellenden was recalled to her [grand] mother's castle, it 
was astonishing by what singular and recurring accidents she 
often met young Morton in her sequestered walks, especially 
considering the distance of their places of abode. Yet it some- 
how happened that she never expressed the surprise which the 
frequency of these rencontres ought naturally to have excited, 
and that their intercourse assumed gradually a more delicate 
character, and their meetings began to wear the air of ap- 
pointments. Books, drawings, letters, were exchanged between 
them, and every trifling commission given or executed gave 
rise to a new correspondence. Love indeed was not yet men- 
tioned between them by name, but each knew the situatic n 
of their own bosom, and could not but guess at that of the 
other. Unable to desist from an intercourse which possessed 
such charms for both, yet trembling for its too probable con- 
sequences, it had been continued without specific explanation 
until now, when fate appeared to have taken the conclusion 
into its own hands. 

It followed, as a consequence of this state of things, as well 
as of the diffidence of Morton’s disposition at this period, that 
his confidence in Edith’s return of his affection had its oc- 
casional cold fits. Her situation was in every respect so sir 


OLD MORTALITY 


128 


perior to his own, her worth so eminent, her accomplishments 
so many, her face so beautiful, and her manners so bewitch- 
ing, that he could not but entertain fears that some suitor 
more favored than himself by fortune, and more acceptable 
to Edith's family than he durst hope to be, might step in be- 
tween him and the object of his affections. Common rumor 
had raised up such a rival in Lord Evandale, whom birth, 
fortune, connections, and political principles, as well as his 
frequent visits at Tillietudlem, and his attendance upon Lady 
Bellenden and her niece at all public places, naturally pointed 
out as a candidate for her favor. It frequently and inevitably 
happened that engagements to which Lord Evandale was a 
party interfered with the meeting of the lovers, and Henry 
could not but mark that Edith either studiously avoided speak- 
ing of the young nobleman, or did so with obvious reserve and 
hesitation. 

These symptoms, which in fact arose from the delicacy of 
her own feelings towards Morton himself, were misconstrued 
by his diffident temper, and the jealousy which they excited 
was fermented by the occasional observations of Jenny Den- 
nison. This true-bred serving-damsel was, in her own person, 
a complete country coquette, and when she had no opportu- 
nity of teasing her own lovers, used to take some occasional op- 
portunity to torment her young lady's. This arose from no 
ill-will to Henry Morton, who, both on her mistress's account 
and his own handsome form and countenance, stood high in 
her esteem. But then Lord Evandale was also handsome ; he 
was liberal far beyond what Morton's means could afford, and 
he was a lord, moreover, and if Miss Edith Bellenden should 
accept his hand she would become a baron's lady, and, what 
was more, little Jenny Dennison, whom the awful housekeeper 
at Tillietudlem huffed about at her pleasure, would be then 
Mrs. Dennison, Lady Evandale's own woman, or perhaps her 
ladyship's lady-in-waiting. The impartiality of Jenny Den- 
nison, therefore, did not, like that of Mrs. Quickly, extend 
to a wish that both the handsome suitors could wed her 
young lady ; for it must be owned that the scale of her regard 
was depressed in favor of Lord Evandale, and her wishes in 
his favor took many shapes extremely tormenting to Morton ; 
being now expressed as a friendly caution, now as an article 
6f intelligence, and anon as a merry jest, but always tending 
to confirm the idea that sooner or later his romantic inter- 
course with her young mistress must have a close, and that 
Edith Bellenden would, in spite of summer walks beneath 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


m 

the greenwood tree, exchange of verses, of drawings, and of 
books, end in becoming Lady Evandale. 

These hints coincided so exactly with the very point of his 
own suspicions and fears, that Morton was not long of feeling 
that jealousy which every one has felt who has truly loved, 
but to which those are most liable whose love is crossed by the 
want of friends' consent, or some other envious impediment 
of fortune. Edith herself unwittingly, and in the generosity 
of her own frank nature, contributed to the error into which 
her lover was in danger of falling. Their conversation once 
chanced to turn upon some late excesses committed by the 
soldiery on an occasion when it was said (inaccurately, how- 
ever) that the party was commanded by Lord Evandale. Edith, 
as true in friendship, as in love, was somewhat hurt at the 
severe strictures which escaped from Morton on this occasion, 
and which, perhaps, were not the less strongly expressed on 
account of their supposed rivalry. She entered into Lord 
Evandale’s defence with such spirit as hurt Morton to the 
very soul, and afforded no small delight to Jenny Dennison, 
the usual companion of their walks. Edith perceived her 
error, and endeavored to remedy it ; but the impression was 
not so easily erased, and it had no small effect in inducing 
her lover to form that resolution of going abroad which was 
disappointed in the manner we have already mentioned. 

The visit which he received from Edith during his confine- 
ment, the deep and devoted interest which she had expressed 
in his fate, ought of themselves to have dispelled his suspi- 
cions ; yet, ingenious in tormenting himself, even this he 
thought might be imputed to anxious friendship, or at most 
to a temporary partiality, which would probably soon give 
way to circumstances, the entreaties of her friends, the au- 
thority of Lady Margaret, and the assiduities of Lord Evan- 
dale. 

“ And to what do I owe it,” he said, “ that I cannot stand 
up like a man and plead my interest in her ere I am thus 
cheated out of it ? to what but to the all-pervading and ac- 
cursed tyranny which afflicts at once our bodies, souls, estates, 
and affections ? And is it to one of the pensioned cutthroats 
of this oppressive government that I must yield my pretensions 
to Edith Bellenden ? I will not, by Heaven ! It is a just 
punishment on me for being dead to public wrongs that they 
have visited me with their injuries in a point where they can 
be least brooked or borne.” 

As these stormy resolutions boiled in his bosom, and while 
he ran over the various kinds of insult and injury which he 


OLD MORTALITY 


125 


had sustained in his own cause and in that of his country. 
Both well entered the tower, followed by two dragoons, one of 
whom carried handcuffs. 

“ You must follow me, young man," said he, “but first we 
must put you in trim." 

“ In trim ! " said Morton. “ What do you mean ? " 

“ Why, we must put on these rough bracelets. I durst not 
—nay, d — n it, I durst do anything — but I would not for 
three hours’ plunder of a stormed town bring a Whig before 
my Colonel without his being ironed. Come, come, young 
man, don’t look sulky about it." 

He advanced to put on the irons ; but, seizing the oaken 
seat upon which he had rested, Morton threatened to dash out 
the brains of the first who should approach him. 

“ I could manage you in a moment, my youngster," said 
Both well, “ but I had rather you would strike sail quietly." 

Here indeed he spoke the truth, not from either fear or 
reluctance to adopt force, but because he dreaded the con- 
sequences of a noisy scuffle, through which it might probably 
be discovered that he had, contrary to express orders, suffered 
his prisoner to pass the night without being properly secured. 

“You had better be prudent," he continued, in atone 
which he meant to be conciliatory, “ and don’t spoil your own 
sports. They say here in the castle that Lady Margaret’s 
niece is immediately to marry our young captain, Lord Evan- 
dale. I saw them close together in the hall yonder, and I 
heard her ask him to intercede for your pardon. She looked 

so devilish handsome and kind upon him that on my soul 

But what the devil’s the matter with you ? You are as pale 
as a sheet. Will you have some brandy ?" 

“ Miss Bellenden ask my life of Lord Evandale !’’ said 
the prisoner, faintly. 

“Ay, ay ; there’s no friend like the women; their inter- 
est carries all in court and camp. Come, you are reasonable 
now. Ay, I thought you would come round." 

Here he employed himself in putting on the fetters, against 
which Morton, thunderstruck by this intelligence, no longer 
offered the least resistance. 

“ My life begged of him, and by her ! Ay, ay, put on the 
irons ; my limbs shall not refuse to bear what has entered 
into my very soul. My life begged by Edith, and begged of 
Evandale ! ’’ 

“ Ay, and he has power to grant it too," said Bothwell. 
“ He can do more with the Colonel than any man in the regi- 
ment.^ 


m 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


And as he spoke he and his party led their prisoner towards 
the hall. In passing behind the seat of Edith the unfortu- 
nate prisoner heard enough, as he conceived, of the broken 
expressions which passed between Edith and Lord Evandale 
to confirm all that the soldier had told him. That moment 
made a singular and instantaneous revolution in his character. 
The depth of despair to which his love and fortunes were re- 
duced, the peril in which his life appeared to stand, the 
(transference of Edith’s aif ections, her intercession in his favor, 
which rendered her fickleness yet more galling, seemed to 
destroy every feeling for which he had hitherto lived, but at 
the same time awakened those which had hitherto been 
smothered by passions more gentle though more selfish. Des- 
perate himself, he determined to support the rights of his 
country insulted in his person. His character was for the 
moment as effectually changed as the appearance of a villa 
which, from being the abode of domestic quiet and happiness, 
is, by the sudden intrusion of an armed force, converted into 
a formidable post of defence. 

We have already said that he cast upon Edith one glance 
in which reproach was mingled with sorrow, as if to bid her 
farewell forever ; his next motion was to walk firmly to the 
table at which Colonel Grahame was seated. 

“ By what right is it, sir,” said he, firmly, and without 
waiting till he was questioned — “ by what right is it that these 
soldiers have dragged me from my family and put fetters on 
the limbs of a free man ?” 

“By my commands,” answered Claverhouse ; “and I now 
lay my commands on you to be silent and hear my questions.” 

“ I will not,” replied Morton, in a determined tone, while’ 
his boldness seemed to electrify all around him. “ I will 
know whether I am in lawful custody, and before a civil mag-, 
istrate, ere the charter of my country shall be forfeited in my 
person.” 

1 “A pretty springald this, upon my honor !” said Claver- 
house. 

“ Are you mad ? ” said Major Bellenden to his young 
friend. “For God’s sake, Henry Morton,” he continued, in 
a tone between rebuke and entreaty, ‘ ‘ remember you are speak- 
ing to one of his Majesty’s officers high in the service.” 

“ It is for that very reason, sir,” returned Henry, firmly, 
“ that I desire to know what right he has to detain me without 
a legal warrant. Were he a civil officer of the law, I should 
know my duty was submission.” 

“Your friend here,” said Claverhouse to the veteran, 


OLD MORTALITY 


127 


coolly, “is one of those scrupulous gentlemen who, like the 
madman in the play, will not tie his cravat without the war- 
rant of Mr. Justice Overdo; but I will let him see before we 
part that my shoulder-knot is as legal a badge of authority as 
the mace of the Justiciary. So, waving this discussion, you 
will be pleased, young man, to tell me directly when you saw 
Balfour of Burley.” 

“ As I know no right you have to ask such a question,” 
replied Morton, “I decline replying to it.” 

“You confessed to my sergeant,” said Claverhouse, “ that 
you saw and entertained him, knowing him to be an inter- 
communed traitor ; why are you not so frank with me ?” 

“ Because,” replied the prisoner, “I presume you are from 
education taught to understand the rights upon which you 
seem disposed to trample ; and I am willing you should be 
aware there are yet Scotsmen who can assert the liberties of 
Scotland.” 

“And these supposed rights you would vindicate with 
your sword, I presume ? ” said Colonel Grahame. 

“ Were I armed as you are, and we were alone upon a hill- 
side, you should not ask me the question twice.”' 

“It is quite enough,” answered Claverhouse, calmly; 
“ your language corresponds with all I have heard of you; 
hut you are the son of a soldier, though a rebellious one, and 
you shall not die the death of a dog ; I will save you that in- 
dignity.” 

“ Die in what manner I may,” replied Morton, “I will die 
like the son of a brave man ; and the ignominy you mention 
shall remain with those who shed innocent blood.” 

“Make your peace, then, with Heaven in five minutes' 
space. Botliwell, lead him down to the courtyard and draw 
up your party.” 

The appalling nature of this conversation, and of its result, 
struck the silence of horror into all but the speakers. But 
now those who stood round broke forth into clamor and ex- 
postulation. Old Lady Margaret, who, with all the prejudices 
of rank and party, had not laid aside the feelings of her sex, 
was loud in her intercession. 

“0, Colonel Grahame,” she exclaimed, “ spare his young 
blood ! Leave him to the law ; do not repay my hospitality 
by shedding men's blood on the threshold of my doors !” 

“Colonel Grahame,” said Major Belleuden, “you must 
answer this violence. Don't think, though I am old and 
feckless, that my friend's son shall be murdered before my 


128 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


eyes with impunity. I can find friends that shall make you 
answer it.” 

“ Be satisfied, Major Bellenden, I will answer it,” replied 
Claverhouse, totally unmoved; “and you, madam, might 
spare me the pain of resisting this passionate intercession 
for a traitor, when you consider the noble blood your own 
house has lost by such as he is.” 

“ Colonel G-raliame,” answered the lady, her aged frame 
trembling with anxiety, “I leave vengeance to Giod, who calls 
it His own. The shedding of this young man’s blood will 
not call back the lives that were dear to me ; and how can it 
comfort me to think that there has maybe been another wid- 
owed mother made childless, like my sell, by a deed done at 
my very door-stane ! ” 

“This is stark madness,” said Claverhouse; “I must do 
my duty to church and state. Here are a thousand villains 
hard by in open rebellion, and you ask me to pardon a young 
fanatic who is enough of himself to set a whole kingdom in a 
blaze ! It cannot be. Remove him, Both well.” 

She who was most interested in this dreadful decision had 
twice strove to speak, but her voice had totally failed her ; 
her mind refused to suggest words, and her tongue to utter 
them. She now sprang up and attempted to rush forward; 
but her strength gave way and she would have fallen flat 
upon the pavement had she not been caught by her attend- 
ant. 

“ Help ! ” cried Jenny — “ help, for God's sake ! my young 
lady is dying.” 

At this exclamation, Evandale, who, during the preceding 
part of the scene, had stood motionless, leaning upon his 
sword, now stepped forward, and said to his commanding 
officer, “ Colonel Grahame, before proceeding in this matter, 
will you speak a word with me in private ? ” 

Claverhouse looked surprised, but instantly rose and with- 
drew with the young nobleman into a recess, where the fol- 
lowing brief dialogue passed between them : 

“I think I need not remind you. Colonel, that, when our 
family interest was of service to you last year in that affair in 
the privy council, you considered yourself as laid under some 
obligation to us ?” 

“Certainly, my dear Evandale,” answered Claverhouse, 
“ I am not a man who forgets such debts ; you will delight 
me by showing how I can evince my gratitude.” 

“I will hold the debt cancelled,” said Lord Evandale, “if 
you will spare this young man's life.” 


OLD MORTALITY 


m 


“Evandale,” replied Grahame, in great surprise, “you are 
mad — absolutely mad ; what interest can you have in this 
yor^g spawn of an old Roundhead ? His father was posi- 
tively the most dangerous man in all Scotland — cool, resolute, 
soldierly, and inflexible in his cursed principles. His son 
seems his very model ; you cannot conceive the mischief he 
may do. I know mankind, Evandale ; were he an insignifi- 
cant, fanatical, country booby, do you think I would have re- 
fused such a trifle as his life to Lady Margaret and this family ? 
But this is a lad of fire, zeal, and education ; and these knaves 
want but such a leader to direct their blind enthusiastic hardi- 
ness. I mention this, not as refusing your request, but to 
make you fully aware of the possible consequences. I will 
never evade a promise, or refuse to return an obligation ; if 
you ask his life he shall have it.” 

“ Keep him close prisoner,” answered Evandale, “ but do 
not be surprised if I persist in requesting you will not put him 
to death. I have most urgent reasons for what I ask.” 

“Be it so, then,” replied Grahame ; “but, young man, 
should you wish in your future life to rise to eminence in the 
service of your king and country, let it be your first task to 
subject to the public interest and to the discharge of your 
duty your private passions, affections, and feelings. These 
are not times to sacrifice to the dotage of graybeards or the 
tears of silly women the measures of salutary severity which 
the dangers around compel us to adopt. And remember that, 
if I now yield this point in compliance with your urgency, 
my present concession must exempt me from future solicita- 
tions of the same nature.” 

He then stepped forward to the table and bent his eyes 
keenly on Morton, as if to observe what effect the pause of 
awful suspense between death and life, which seemed to freeze 
the bystanders with horror, would produce upon the prisoner 
himself. Morton maintained a degree of firmness which noth- 
ing but a mind that had nothing left upon earth to love or to 
hope could have supported at such a crisis. 

“You see him ?” said Claverhouse, in a half whisper, to 
Lord Evandale. “He is tottering on the verge between time 
and eternity, a situation more appalling than the most hide- 
ous certainty ; yet his is the only cheek unblanched, the only 
eye that is calm, the only heart that keeps its usual time, the 
only nerves that are not quivering. Look at him well, Evan- 
dale. If that man shall ever come to head an army of rebels, 
you will have much to answer for on account of this morn- 
ing's work.” He then said aloud, “ Young man, your life is 


130 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


for the present safe, through the intercession of your friends. 
Remove him. Both well, and let him be properly guarded and 
brought along with the other prisoners.” 

“ If my life,” said Morton, stung with the idea that he 
owed his respite to the intercession of a favored rival — “if 
my life be granted at Lord Evandale’s request ” 

“ Take the prisoner away, Bothwell,” said Colonel Gra- 
hame, interrupting him ; “ I have neither time to make nor 
to hear fine speeches.” 

Bothwell forced off Morton, saying, as he conducted him 
into the courtyard, “ Have you three lives in your pocket, 
besides the one in your body, my lad, that you can afford to 
let your tongue run away with them at this rate ? Come, 
come, Til take care to keep you out of the Colonel’s way ; 
for, egad, you will not be five minutes with him before the 
next tree or the next ditch will be the word. So come along 
to your companions in bondage.” 

Thus speaking, the sergeant, who in his rude manner did 
not altogether want sympathy for a gallant young man, hur- 
ried Morton down to the courtyard, where three other pris- 
oners, two men and a woman, who had been taken by Lord 
Evandale, remained under an escort of dragoons. 

Meantime Claverhouse took his leave of Lady Margaret. 
But it was difficult for the good lady to forgive his neglect of 
her intercession. 

“ I have thought till now,” she said, “ that the Tower of 
Tillietudlem might have been a place of succor to those that 
are ready to perish, even if they werena sae deserving as they 
should have been ; but I see auld fruit has little savor ; our 
suffering and our services have been of an ancient date.” 

“ They are never to be forgotten by me, let me assure your 
ladyship,” said Claverhouse. “ Nothing but what seemed my 
sacred duty could make me hesitate to grant a favor requested 
by you and the Major. Come, my good lady, let me hear you 
say you have forgiven me, and as I return to-night I will bring 
a drove of two hundred Whigs with me, and pardon fifty head 
qf them for your sake.” 

“ I shall be fiappy to hear of your success, Colonel,” said 
Major Bcfilenden ; “ but take an old soldier’s advice, and spare 
blood when battle’s over ; and once more let me request to 
enter bail for young Morton.” 

“ We will settle that when I return,” said Claverhouse. 
“ Meanwhile, be assured his life shall be safe.” 

During this conversation Evandale looked anxiously 
around lor Edith ; but the precaution of Jenny Dennison had 


OLD MORTALITY 


131 

Occasioned her mistress being transported to her own apart- 
ment. 

Slowly and heavily he obeyed the impatient summons of 
Claverliouse, who, after taking a courteous leave of Lady 
Margaret and the Major, had hastened to the courtyard. The 
prisoners with their guard were already on their march, and 
the officers with their escort mounted and followed. All 
pressed forward to overtake the main body, as it was supposed 
they would come in sight of the enemy in little more than two 
hours. 


CHAPTER XIV 


My hounds may a’ rin masterless, 

My hawks may fly f rae tree to tree, 

My lord may grip my vassal lands, 

For there again maun I never be ! 

Old Ballad. 

We left Morton, along with three companions in captivity, 
travelling in the custody of a small body of soldiers, who 
formed the rear-guard of the column under the command of 
Claverhouse, and were immediately under the charge of Ser- 
geant Both well. Their route lay towards the hills in which 
the insurgent Presbyterians were reported to be in arms. 
They had not prosecuted their march a quarter of a mile ere 
Claverhouse and Evandale galloped past them, followed by 
their orderly-men, in order to take their proper places in the 
column which preceded them. No sooner were they past 
than Bothwell halted the body which he commanded, and 
disencumbered Morton of his irons. 

(i King’s blood must keep word," said the dragoon. “I 
promised you should be civilly treated as far as rested with 
me. Here, Corporal Inglis, let this gentleman ride along- 
side of the other young fellow who is prisoner ; and you may 
permit them to converse together at their pleasure, under 
their breath, but take care they are guarded by two files with 
loaded carabines. If they attempt an escape, blow their brains 
out. You cannot call that using you uncivilly," he con- 
tinued, addressing himself to Morton ; “ it’s the rules of war, 
you know. And, Inglis, couple up the parson and the old 
woman ; they are fittest company for each other, d — n me ; 
a single file may guard them well enough. If they speak a 
word of cant or fanatical nonsense, let them have a strapping 
with a shoulder-bolt. There’s some hope of choking a si- 
lenced parson ; if he is not allowed to hold forth, his own 
treason will burst him." 

Having made this arrangement, Bothwell placed himself at 
the head of the party, and Inglis, with six dragoons, brought 


OLD MORTALITY 


133 


up the rear. The whole then set forward at a trot, with the 
purpose of overtaking the main body of the regiment. 

Morton, overwhelmed with a complication of feelings, was 
totally indifferent to the various arrangements made for his 
secure custody, and even to the relief afforded him by his 
release from the fetters. He experienced that blank and waste 
of the heart which follows the hurricane of passion, and, no 
longer supported by the pride and conscious rectitude which 
dictated his answers to Claverhouse, he surveyed with deep 
dejection the glades through which he travelled, each turning 
of which had something to remind him of past happiness and 
disappointed love. The eminence which they now ascended 
was that from which he used first and last to behold the 
ancient tower when approaching or retiring from it ; and it is 
needless to add that there he was wont to pause and gaze with 
a lovers delight on the battlements which, rising at a dis- 
tance out of the lofty wood, indicated the dwelling of her 
whom he either hoped soon to meet or had recently parted 
from. Instinctively he turned his head back to take a last 
look of a scene formerly so dear to him, and no less instinc- 
tively he heaved a deep sigh. It was echoed by a loud groan 
from his companion in misfortune, whose eyes, moved, per- 
chance, by similar reflections, had taken the same direction. 
This indication of sympathy on the part of the captive was 
uttered in a tone more coarse than sentimental ; it was, how- 
ever, the expression of a grieved spirit, and so far corre- 
sponded with the sigh of Morton. In turning their heads their 
eyes met, and Morton recognized the stolid countenance of 
Cuddie Headrigg, bearing a rueful expression, in which sor- 
row for his own lot was mixed with sympathy for the situation 
of his companion. 

“Hegh, sirs !” was the expression of the ci-devant plough- 
man of the mains of Tillietudlem ; “it's an unco thing that 
decent folk should be harled through the country this gate as 
if they were a warld^s wonder.” 

“I am sorry to see you here, Cuddie,” said Morton, who, 
even in his own distress, did not lose feeling for that of 
others. 

“ And sae am I, Mr. Henry,” answered Cuddie, “baith 
for mysell and you ; but neither of our sorrows will do muckle 
gude that I ca’n see. To be sure, for me,” continued the 
captive agriculturist, relieving his heart by talking, though 
he well knew it was to little purpose — “to be sure, for my 
part, I hae nae right to be here ava', for I never did nor said 
a word against either king or curate ; but my mither, puir 


waverley novels 


‘134 


vbody, couldna hand the auld tongue o’ her, and we maun 
baith pay for% it’s like/’ 

“Your mother is their prisoner likewise ?" said Morton, 
hardly knowing what he said. 

“ In troth is she, riding ahint ye there like a bride, w/ 
that auld carle o* a minister that they ca* Gabriel Kettle- 
drummle. Deil that he had been in the inside of a drum or 
a kettle either, for my share o’ him ! Ye see, we were nae 
sooner chased out o’ the doors o’ Milnwood, and your uncle 
and the housekeeper banging them to and barring them ahint 
us as if we had had the plague on our bodies, than I says to 
my mither, What are we to do neist ? for every hole and 
bore in the country will be steekit against us, now that yehae 
affronted my auld leddy, and ga/t the troopers tak up young 
Milnwood/ Sae she says to me, ‘ Binna cast doun, but gird 
yoursell up to the great task o’ the day, and gie your testimony 
like a man upon the mount o' the Covenant/ " 

“And so I suppose you went to a conventicle?" said 
Morton. 

“Ye sail hear," continued Cuddie. “ Aweel, I kendna 
muckle better what to do, sae I e’en gaed wi’ her to an auld 
daft carline like hersell, and we got some water-broo and ban- 
nocks ; and mony a weary grace they said, and mony a psalm 
they sang, or they wad let me win to, for I was amaist fam- 
ished wi’ vexation. Aweel, they had me up in the gray o’ the 
morning, and I behoved to whig awa’ wi’ them, reason or 
nane, to a great gathering o’ their folk at the Miry Sikes ; 
and there this chield, Gabriel Kettledrummle, was blasting awa’ 
to them on the hillside about lifting up their testimony, nae 
doubt, and ganging down to the battle of Roman Gilead, or 
some sic place. Eh, Mr. Henry, but the carle gae them a 
screed o’ doctrine ! Ye might hae heard him a mile down 
the wind. He routed like a cow in a fremd loaning. ‘ Weel/ 
thinks I, f there’s nae place in this country they ca’ Roman 
Gilead ; it will be some gate in the west muirlands ; and or 
we win there Fll see to slip awa’ wi’ this mither o’ mine, for I 
winna rin my neck into a tether for ony Kettledrummle in 
the country-side/ Aweel," continued Cuddie, relieving him- 
self by detailing his misfortunes, without being scrupulous 
concerning the degree of attention which his companion be- 
stowed on his narrative, “just as I was wearying for the tail 
of the preaching, cam word that the dragoons were upon us. 
Some ran, and some cried, ‘ Stand ! ’ and some cried, ‘ Down 
wi’ the Philistines ! 9 I was at my mither to get her awa* 
sting and ling or the redcoats cam up, but I might as weel 


OLD MORTALITY 


135 


hae tried, to drive our auld fore-a-hand ox without the goad — 
deil a step wad she budge. Weel, after a*, the cleugh we were 
in was strait, and the mist cam thick, and there was good 
hope the dragoons wad hae missed us if we could hae held our 
tongues ; but, as if auld Kettledrummle himsell hadna made 
din eneugh to waken the very dead, they behoved a ' to skirl 
up a psalm that ye wad hae heard as far as Lanrick ! Aweel, 
to mak a lang tale short, up cam my young Lord Evandale, 
skelping as fast as his horse could trot, and twenty redcoats 
at his back. Twa or three chields wad needs fight wi' the 
pistol and the whinger in the tae hand and the Bible in the 
tother, and they got their crouns weel cloured ; but there 
wasna muckle skaith dune, for Evandale aye cried to scatter 
us, but to spare life.” 

“ And did you not resist ? ” said Morton, who probably 
felt that at that moment he himself would have encountered 
Lord Evandale on much slighter grounds. 

“ Na, truly,” answered Cuddie, “ I keepit aye before the 
auld woman, and cried for mercy to life and limb ; but twa 
o' the redcoats cam up, and ane o' them was gaun to strike 
my mither wi' the side o' his broadsword. So I got up my 
kebbie at them, and said I wad gie them as gude. Weel, 
they turned on me, and clinked at mewi' their swords, and I 
garr'd my hand keep my head as weel as I could till Lord 
Evandale came up, and then I cried out I was a servant at 
Tillietudlem — ye ken yoursell he was aye judged to hae a look 
after the young leddy — and he bade me fling down my kent ; 
and sae me and my mither yielded oursells prisoners. Fm 
thinking we wad hae been letten slip awa' ; but Kettledrummle 
was taen near us, for Andrew Wilson's naig that he was rid- 
ing on had been a dragooner lang syne, and the sairer Kettle- 
drummle spurred to win awa', the readier the dour beast ran 
to the dragoons when he saw them draw up. Aweel, when 
my mither and him forgathered they set till the sodgers, and 
I think they gae them their kale through the reek ! Bastards 
o' the hure o' Babylon was the best words in their wame. 
Sae then the kiln was in a bleeze again, and they brought us 
a' three on wi' them to mak us an example, as they ca't.” 

“ It is most infamous and intolerable oppression ! ” said 
Morton, half speaking to himself. “ Here is a poor peace- 
able fellow, whose only motive for joining the conventicle 
was a sense of filial piety, and he is chained up like a thief 
or murderer, and likely to die the death of one, but without 
the privilege of a formal trial, which our laws indulge to the 
i worst malefactor. Even to witness such tyranny, and still 


136 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


more to suffer under it, is enough to make the blood of the 
tamest slave boil within him.” 

“ To be sure,” said Cuddie, hearing, and partly under- 
standing, what had broken from Morton in resentment of his 
injuries, “it is no right to speak evil o’ dignities. My auld 
leddy aye said that, as nae doubt she had a gude right to do, 
being in a place o’ dignity hersell ; and troth I listened to her 
very patiently, for she aye ordered a dram, or a soup-kale, or 
something to us, after she had gien us a hearing on our duties. 
Butdiel a dram, or kale, or ony thing else, no sae muckle as 
a cup o’ cauld water, do thae lords at Edinburgh gie us ; and 
yet they are heading and hanging amang us, and trailing us 
after thae blackguard troopers, and taking our goods and gear 
as if we were outlaws. I canna say 1 tak it kind at their 
hands. ” 

“It would be very strange if you did,” answered Morton, 
with suppressed emotion. 

“And what I like warst o' a*,” continued poor Cuddie, 
“is thae ranting redcoats coming amang the lasses and taking 
awa' our joes. I had a sair heart o' myain when I passed the 
mains down at Tillietudlem this morning about parritch-time, 
and saw the reek cornin' out at my ain lum-head, and kenn'd 
there was some ither body than my auld mither sitting by 
the ingle-side. But I think my heart was e'en sairer when I 
saw that hellicat trooper, Tam Halliday, kissing Jenny Denni- 
son afore my face. I wonder women can hae the impudence 
to do sic things ; but they are a' for the redcoats. Whiles I 
hae thought o' being a trooper mysell, when I thought nae- 
thing else wad gae down wi' Jenny ; and yet I’ll no blame her 
ower muckle neither, for maybe it was a' for my sake that she 
loot Tam touzle her tap-knots that gate.” 

“ For your sake ?” said Morton, unable to refrain from 
taking some interest in a story which seemed to bear a singular 
coincidence with his own. 

“ E'en sae, Milnwood,” replied Cuddie ; “for the puir 
quean gat leave to come near me wi' speaking the loon fair — 
d — n him, that I suld say sae ! — and sae she bade me Godspeed, 
and she wanted to stap siller into my hand ; I'se warrant it 
was the tae half o' her fee and bountith, for she wared the 
ither half on pinners and pearlings to gang to see us shoot yon 
day at the popinjay.” 

“And did you take it, Cuddie?” said Morton. 

“ Troth did I no, Milnwood ; I was sic a fule as to fling it 
back to her ; my heart was ower grit to be behadden to her 
when I had seen that loon slavering and kissing at her. But 


OLD MORTALITY 


137 


I was a great fule for my pains ; it wad hae dune my mither 
and me some gude, and she’ll ware’t a’ on duds and nonsense.” 

There was here a deep and long pause. Cuddie was prob- 
ably engaged in regretting the rejection of his mistress’s 
bounty, and Henry Morton in considering from what motives, 
or upon what conditions, Miss Bellenden had succeeded in 
procuring the interference of Lord Evandale in his favor. 

Was it not possible, suggested his awakening hopes, that 
he had construed her influence over Lord Evandale hastily 
and unjustly ? Ought he to censure her severely if, submit- 
ting to dissimulation for his sake, she had permitted the 
young nobleman to entertain hopes which she had no inten- 
tion to realize ? Or what if she had appealed to the generos- 
ity which Lord Evandale was supposed to possess, and had 
engaged his honor to protect the person of a favored rival ? 

Still, however, the words which he had overheard recurred 
ever and anon to his remembrance with a pang which resem- 
bled the sting of an adder. 

“ Nothing that she could refuse him ! Was it possible to 
make a more unlimited declaration of predilection ? The 
language of affection has not, within the limits of maidenly 
delicacy, a stronger expression. She is lost to me wholly and 
forever, and nothing remains for me now but vengeance for 
my own wrongs and for those which are hourly inflicted on my 
country.” 

Apparently Cuddie, though with less refinement, was fol- 
lowing out a similar train of ideas, for he suddenly asked Mor- 
ton in a low whisper, “ Wad there be ony ill in getting out o’ 
thae chields’ hands an ane could compass it ? ” 

“ None in the world, ” said Morton ; “ and if an opportunity 
occurs of doing so, depend on it I for one will not let it slip.” 

“I’m blithe to hear ye say sae,” answered Cuddie. “I’m 
but a puir silly fallow, but I canna think there wad be muckle 
ill in breaking out by strength o’ hand if ye could mak it ony- 
thing feasible. I am the lad that will ne’er fear to lay on, if 
it were come to that ; but our auld leddy wad hae ca’d that a 
resisting o’ the king’s authority.” 

“I will resist any authority on earth,” said Morton, “that 
invades tyrannically my chartered rights as a freeman ; and I 
am determined I will not be unjustly dragged to a jail, or 
perhaps a gibbet, if I can possibly make my escape from these 
men either by address or force.” 

“ Weel, that’s just my mind too, aye supposing we hae a 
feasible opportunity o’ breaking loose. But then ye speak o’ 
a charter ; now these are things that only belang to the like 0 * 


m 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


you that are a gentleman, and it mightna bear me through 
that am but a husbandman.” 

“ The charter that I speak of,” said Morton, “is common 
to the meanest Scotchman. It is that freedom from stripes 
and bondage which was claimed, as you may read in Scripture, 
by the Apostle Paul himself, and which every man who is free 
born is called upon to defend for his own sake and that of his 
countrymen.” 

“ Hegh, sirs ! ” replied Cuddie, “ it wad hae been lang or 
my Leddy Margaret, or my mither either, wad hae fund out 
sic a wise-like doctrine in the Bible ! The tane was aye 
graning about giving tribute to Caesar, and the tither is as 
daft wi’ her Whiggery. I hae been clean spoilt, just wi’ lis- 
tening to twa blethering auld wives ; but if I could get a 
gentleman that wad let me tak on to be his servant, I am 
confident I wad be a clean contrary creature ; and I hope 
your honor will think on what I am saying if ye were ance 
fairly delivered out o’ this house of bondage, and just take 
me to be your ain wally-de-shamble.” 

“My valet, Cuddie!” answered Morton. “Alas! that 
would be sorry preferment, even if we were at liberty.” 

“I ken what yeTe thinking — that because I am landward- 
bred I wad be bringing ye to disgrace afore folk ; but ye 
maun ken I’m gay gleg at the uptak : there was never ony- 
thing dune wi’ hand but I learned gay readily, ’septing read- 
ing, writing, and ciphering ; but there's no the like o' me at the 
fitba’, and I can play wP the broadsword as weel as Corporal 
Inglis there. I hae broken his head or now, for as massy as 
he’s riding ahint us. And then ye’ll no be gaun to stay in 
this country ? ” said he, stopping and interrupting himself. 

“Probably not,” replied Morton. 

“ Weel, I carena a boddle. Ye see I wad get my mither 
bestowed wi’ her auld graning tittie. Auntie Meg, in the 
Gallowgate o’ Glasgow, and then I trust they wad neither 
burn her for a witch, or let her fail for fau’t o’ fude, or hang 
her up for an auld Whig wife ; for the provost, they say, is 
very regardfu’ o’ sic puir bodies. And then you and me wad 
gang and pouss our fortunes like the folk i’ the daft auld 
tales about Jock the Giant-killer and Valentine and Orson ; 
and we wad come back to merry Scotland, as the sang says, 
and I wad tak to the stilts again, and turn sic furs on the 
bonny rigs o’ Milnwood holmes that it wad be worth a pint 
but to look at them.” 

“I fear,” said Morton, “there is very little chance, my 


OLD MORTALITY 


good friend Cuddie, of our getting back to our old occupa- 
tion.” 

“ Hout, stir — bout, stir,” replied Cuddie, “ it's aye gude 
to keep up a hardy heart, as broken a ship’s come to land. 
But what’s that I hear ? Never stir, if my auld mither isna 
at the preaching again ! I ken the sough o’ her texts, that 
sound just like the wind blawing through the spencc ; and 
there’s Kettledrummle setting to wark too. Lordsake, if the 
sodgers anes get angry they’ll murder them baith, and us for 
company ! ” 

Their further conversation was in fact interrupted by a 
blatant noise which rose behind them, in which the voice of 
the preacher emitted, in unison with that of the old woman, 
tones like the grumble of a bassoon combined with the screak- 
ing of a cracked fiddle. At first the aged pair of sufferers 
had been contented to condole with each other in smothered 
expressions of complaint and indignation ; but the sense of 
their injuries became more pungently aggravated as they com- 
municated with each other, and they became at length unable 
to suppress their ire. 

“ Woe, woe, and a threefold woe unto you, ye bloody and 
violent persecutors ! ” exclaimed the Reverend Gabriel Kettle- 
drummle. “ Woe, and threefold woe unto you, even to the 
breaking of seals, the blowing of trumpets, and the pouring 
forth of vials ! ” 

“ Ay, ay ; a black cast to a’ their ill-faur’d faces, and the 
outside o’ the loof to them at the last day ! ” echoed the shrill 
counter-tenor of Mause, falling in like the second part of a 
catch. 

“ I tell you,” continued the divine, “ that your rankings 
and your ridings, your neighings and your prancings, your 
bloody, barbarous, and inhuman cruelties, your benumbing, 
c .eadening, and debauching the conscience of poor creatures 
by oaths, soul-damning and self-contradictory, have arisen 
from earth to Heaven like a foul and hideous outcry of per- 
jury for hastening the wrath to come hugh ! hugh ! 

hugh ! ” 

“ And I say,” cried Mause, in the same tune, and nearly at 
the same time, “ that wi’ this auld breath o’ mine, and it’s sair 
taen down wi’ the asthmatics and this rough trot ” 

“ Deil gin they would gallop,” said Cuddie, “ wad it but 
gar her haud her tongue ! ” 

“ — Wi’ this auld and brief breath,” continued Mause, 
yyill I testify agaiffst the backslidings, defections, defalca* 


140 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


tions, and declinings of the land — against the grievances and 
the causes of wrath ! " 

“ Peace, I pr’ythee — peace, good woman, " said the preacher, 
who had just recovered from a violent fit of coughing, and 
found his own anathema borne down by Mausers better wind — 
“ peace, and take not the word out of the mouth of a servant 
of the altar. I say, I uplift my voice and tell you, that before 
the play is played out — ay, before this very sun gaes down — ye 
sail learn that neither a desperate Judas, like your prelate 
Sharp that's gane to his place ; nor a sanctuary-breaking Holo- 
f ernes, like bloody-minded Claverhouse ; nor an ambitious 
Diotrephes, like the lad Evandale ; nor a covetous and warld- 
following Demas, like him they ca' Sergeant Bothwell, that 
makes every wife's plack and her meal-ark his ain ; neither 
your carabines, nor your pistols, nor your broadswords, nor 
your horses, nor your saddles, bridles, surcingles, nose-bags, 
nor martingales, shall resist the arrows that are whetted and 
the bow that is bent against you ! " 

“ That shall they never, I trow," echoed Mause. “ Casta- 
ways are they ilk ane o' them ; besoms of destruction, fit only 
to be flung into the fire when they have sweepit the filth out 
o' the Temple ; whips of small cords, knotted for the chastise- 
ment of those wha like their warldly gudes and gear better 
than the Cross or the Covenant, but when that wark's done, 
only meet to mak latchets to the deil's brogues." 

“ Fiend hae me," said Cuddie, addressing himself to Morton, 
“ if I dinna think our mither preaches as weel as the minister ! 
But it's a sair pity o' his hoast, for it aye comes on just when 
he's at the best o't, and that lang routing he made air this 
morning is sair again him too. Deil an I care if he wad roar 
her dumb, and then he wad hae't a' to answer for himsell. It's 
lucky the road's rough, and the troopers are no taking muckle 
tent to what they say wi' the rattling o' the horses' feet ; but 
an we were anes on saft grund we'll hear news o' a' this." 

Cuddie's conjectures were but too true. The words of 
the prisoners had not been much attended to while drowned 
by the clang of horses' hoofs on a rough and stony road ; but 
they now entered upon the moorlands, where the testimony 
of the two zealous captives lacked this saving accompaniment. 
And, accordingly, no sooner had their steeds begun to tread 
heath and greensward, and Gabriel Kettledrummle had again 
raised his voice with, “Also, I uplift my voice like that of a 

pelican in the wilderness " 

“ And I mine," had issued from Mause, “ like a sparrow 
cm the housetops •” 


OLD MORTALITY 


141 


When “ Hollo, ho ! ” cried the corporal from the rear; 
“ rein up your tongues ; the devil blister them, or Fll clap a 
martingale on them.” 

“I will not peace at the commands of the profane,” said 
Gabriel. 

“Nor I neither,” said Mause, “for the bidding of no 
earthly potsherd, though it be painted as red as a brick from 
the Tower of Babel, and ca' itsell a corporal.” 

“Halliday,” cried the corporal, “hast got never a gag 
about thee, man ? AYe must stop their mouths before they 
talk us all dead.” 

Ere any answer could be made, or any measure taken in 
consequence of the corporal's motion, a dragoon galloped 
towards Sergeant Bothwell, who was considerably ahead of 
the party he commanded. On hearing the orders which he 
brought, Bothwell instantly rode back to the head of his 
party, ordered them to close their files, to mend their pace, 
and to move with silence and precaution, as they would soon 
be in presence of the enemy. 


CHAPTER XV 


Quantum in nobis , we’ve thought good 
To save the expense of Christian hjbod, 

And try if we, by mediatiopr*^ 

Of treaty, and accommodation, - 
Can end the quarrel, and compose 
This bloody duel without blows. 

Butler. 

The increased pace of the party of horsemen soon took away 
fiWlVtheir zealous captives the breath, if not the inclination, 
necbssary for holding forth. They had now for more than a 
mile got free of the woodlands, whose broken glades had for 
some time accompanied them after they had left the woods 
of Tillietudlem. A few birches and oaks still feathered the 
narrow ravines, or occupied in dwarf clusters the hollow plains 
of the moor. But these were gradually disappearing, and a 
wide and waste country lay before them, swelling into bare 
hills of dark heath, intersected by deep gullies, being the pas- 
sages by which torrents forced their course in winter, and 
during summer the disproportioned channels for diminutive 
rivulets that winded their puny way among heaps of stones 
and gravel, the effects and tokens of their winter fury, like 
so many spendthrifts dwindled down by the consequences of 
former excesses and extravagance. This desolate region 
seemed to extend further than the eye could reach, without 
grandeur, without even the dignity of mountain wildness, 
yet striking, from the huge proportion which it seemed to 
bear to such more favored spots of the country as were 
adapted to cultivation and fitted for the support of man, and 
thereby impressing irresistibly the mind of the spectator with 
a sense of the omnipotence of nature and the comparative 
inefficacy of the boasted means of amelioration which man is 
capable of opposing to the disadvantages of climate and soil. 

It is a remarkable effect of such extensive wastes that they 
impose an idea of solitude even upon those who travel through 
them in considerable numbers, so much is the imagination 
affected by the disproportion between the dese rt around and 
{he party who are traversing it. Thus the members of a 3ar> 

m 


OLD MORTALITY 


148 

avan of a thousand souls may feel, in the deserts of Africa or 
Arabia, a sense of loneliness, unknown to the individual trav- 
eller whose solitar}^ course is through a thriving and culti- 
vated country. 

It was not, therefore, without a peculiar feeling of emotion 
that Morton beheld, at the distance of about half a mile, the 
body of the cavalry to which his escort belonged creeping up 
a steep and winding path which ascended from the more 
level moor into the hills. Their numbers, which appeared 
formidable when they crowded through narrow roads, and 
seemed multiplied by appearing partially and at different 
points among the trees, were now apparently diminished by 
being exposed at once to view, and in a landscape whose ex- 
tent bore such immense proportion to the columns of horses 
and men, which, showing more like a drove of black cattle 
than a body of soldiers, crawled slowly along the face of the 
hill, their force and their numbers seeming trifling and con- 
temptible. 

“ Surely,” said Morton to himself, “ a handful of resolute 
men may defend any defile in these mountains against such 
a small force as this is, providing that their bravery is equal 
to their enthusiasm.” 

While he made these reflections, the rapid movement of 
the horsemen who guarded him soon traversed the space 
which divided them from their companions ; and ere the front 
of Claverhouse’s column had gained the brow r of the hill 
which they had been seen ascending, Bothwell, with his rear- 
guard and prisoners, had united himself, or nearly so, with 
the main body led by his commander. The extreme diffi- 
culty of the road, which was in some places steep and in 
others boggy, retarded the progress of the column, especially 
in the rear ; for the passage of the main body in many in- 
stances poached up the swamps through which they passed, 
and rendered them so deep that the last of their followers were 
forced to leave the beaten path and find safer passage where 
they could. 

On these occasions the distresses of the Reverend Gabriel 
Kettledrummle and of Mause Headrigg were considerably 
augmented, as the brutal troopers by whom they were guarded 
compelled them, at all risks which such inexperienced riders 
were likely to incur, to leap their horses over drains and gul- 
lies, or to push them through morasses and swamps. 

“ Through the help of the Lord I have luppen ower a 
wall,” cried poor Mause, as her horse was by her rude attend- 
ants brought up to leap the turf enclosure of a deserted fold, 


144 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


in which feat her curch flew off, leaving her gray hairs un- 
covered. 

U I am sunk in deep mire where there is no standing ; I 
am come into deep waters where the floods overflow me ! ” 
exclaimed Kettledrummle, as the charger on which he was 
mounted plunged up to the saddle-girths in a “ well-head,” as 
the springs are called which supply the marshes, the sable 
streams beneath spouting over the face and person of the cap- 
tive preacher. 

These exclamations excited shouts of laughter among their 
military attendants ; but events soon occurred which rendered 
them all sufficiently serious. 

The leading files of the regiment had nearly attained the 
brow of the steep hill we have mentioned when two or three 
horsemen, speedily discovered to be a part of their own ad- 
vanced guard who had acted as a patrol, appeared returning 
at full gallop, their horses much blown and the men appa- 
rently in a disordered flight. They were followed upon the spu r 
by five or six riders, well armed with sword and pistol, who 
halted upon the top of the hill on observing the approach of 
the Life Guards. One or two who had carabines dismounted, 
and taking a leisurely and deliberate aim at the foremost rank 
of the regiment, discharged their pieces, by which two troopers 
were wounded, one severely. They then mounted their horses 
and disappeared over the ridge of the hill, retreating with so 
much coolness as evidently showed that, on the' one hand, they 
were undismayed by the approach of so considerable a force 
as was moving against them, and conscious, on the other, that 
they were supported by numbers sufficient for their protec- 
tion. This incident occasioned a halt through the whole body 
of cavalry ; and while Claverhouse himself received the report 
of his advanced guard, which had been thus driven back upon 
the main body, Lord Evandale advanced to the top of the 
ridge over which the enemy's horsemen had retired, and Major 
Allan, Cornet Grahame, and the other officers employed 
themselves in extricating the regiment from the broken ground 
and drawing them up on the side of the hill in two lines, the 
one to support the other. 

The word was then given to advance ; and in a few min- 
utes the first lines stood on the brow and commanded the 
prospect on the other side. The second line closed upon them, 
and also the rear-guard with the prisoners ; so that Morton 
and his companions in captivity could in like manner see the 
form of opposition which w r as now offered to the further prog- 
ress of their captors. 


OLD MORTALITY 


145 


The brow of the hill, on which the Royal Life Guards were 
now drawn up, sloped downwards (on the side opposite to 
that which they Lad ascended) with a gentle declivity for 
more than a quarter of a mile, and presented ground which, 
though unequal in some places, was not altogether unfavor- 
able for the manoeuvres of cavalry, until near the bottom, 
when the slope terminated in a marshy level, traversed through 
its whole length by what seemed either a natural gully or a 
deep artificial drain, the sides of which were broken by 
springs, trenches filled with water, out of which peats and 
turf had been dug, and here and there by some straggling 
thickets of alders, which loved the moistness so well that they 
continued to live as bushes, although too much dwarfed by 
the sour soil and the stagnant bog- water to ascend into trees. 
Beyond this ditch or gully the ground arose into a second 
heathy swell, or rather hill, near to the foot of which, and as 
if with the object of defending the broken ground and ditch 
that covered their front, the body of insurgents appeared to 
be drawn up with the purpose of abiding battle. 

Their infantry was divided into three lines. The first, 
tolerably provided with firearms, were advanced almost close 
to the verge of the bog, so that their fire must necessarily 
annoy the royal cavalry as they descended the opposite hill, 
the whole front of which was exposed, and would probably be 
yet more fatal if they attempted to cross the morass. Behind 
this first line was a body of pikemen, designed for their sup- 
port in case the dragoons should force the passage of the 
marsh. In their rear was their third line, consisting of coun- 
trymen armed with scythes set straight on poles, hay-forks, 
spits, clubs, goads, fish-spears, and such other rustic im- 
plements as hasty resentment had converted into instru- 
ments of war. On each flank of the infantry, but a little 
backward from the bog, as if to allow themselves dry and 
sound ground whereon to act in case their enemies should 
force the pass, there was drawn up a small body of cavalry, 
who were in general but indifferently armed and worse 
mounted, but full of zeal for the cause, being chiefly either 
landholders of small property or farmers of the better class, 
whose means enabled them to serve on horseback. A few of 
those who had been engaged in driving back the advanced 
guard of the Royalists might now be seen returning slowly 
towards their own squadrons. These were the only individ- 
uals of the insurgent army which seemed to be in motion. 
All the others stood firm and motionless as the gray stones 
that lay scattered on the heath around them. 


146 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


The total number of the insurgents might amount to 
about a thousand men ; but of these there were scarce a hun- 
dred cavalry, nor were the half of them even tolerably armed. 
The strength of their position, however, the sense of their 
having taken a desperate step, the superiority of their num- 
bers, but, above all, the ardor of their enthusiasm, were the 
means on which their leaders reckoned for supplying the want 
of arms, equipage, and military discipline. 

On the side of the hill that rose above the array of battle 
which they had adopted were seen the women, and even the 
children, whom zeal, opposed to persecution, had driven into 
the wilderness. They seemed stationed there to be spectators 
of the engagement, by which their own fate, as well as that of 
their parents, husbands, and sons, was to be decided. Like 
the females of the ancient German tribes, the shrill cries 
which they raised when they beheld the glittering ranks of 
their enemy appear on the brow of the opposing eminence 
acted as an incentive to their relatives to fight to the last in 
defence of that which was dearest to them. Such exhorta- 
tions seemed to have their full and emphatic effect ; for a 
wild halloo, which went from rank to rank on the appear- 
ance of the soldiers, intimated the resolution of the insurgent* 
to fight to the uttermost. 

As the horsemen halted their lines on the ridge of the hill 
their trumpets and kettle-drums sounded a bold and warlike 
flourish of menace and defianc.e, that rang along the waste 
like the shrill summons of a destroying angel. The Wander- 
ers, in answer, united their voices and sent forth in solemn 
modulation the two first verses of the seventy-sixth Psalm, 
according to the metrical version of the Scottish Kirk — 

In J udah’s land God is well known, 

His name’s in Isr’el great : 

In Salem is his tabernacle, 

In Sion is his seat. 

There arrows of the bow he brake, 

The shield, the sword, the war. 

More glorious thou than hills of prev 
More excellent art far. 

A shout, or rather a solemn acclamation, attended the 
close of the stanza ; and after a dead pause the second verse 
was resumed by the insurgents, who applied the destruction 
of the Assyrians as prophetical of the issue of their own im- 
pending contest — 


OLD MORTALITY 


147 


Those that were stout of heart are spoil’d. 

They slept their sleep outright ; 

And none of those their hands did find, 

That were the men of might. 

When thy rebuke, O Jacob’s God, 

Had forth against them past, 

Their horses and their chariot 3 both 
Were in a deep sleep cast. 

There was another acclamation, which was followed by the 
most profound silence. 

While these solemn sounds, accented by a thousand voices, 
were prolonged among the waste hills, Claverhouse looked 
with great attention on the ground and on the order of battle 
which the Wanderers had adopted, and in which they deter- 
mined to await the assault. 

“The churls,” he said, “must have some old soldiers 
with them ; it was no rustic that made choice of that ground.” 

“Burley is said to be with them for certain,” answered 
Lord Evandale, “ and also Hackston of Rathillet, Paton of 
Meadowhead, Cleland, and some other men of military skill.” 

“ I judged as much,” said Claverhouse, “ from the style 
in which these detached horsemen leaped their horses over the 
ditch as they returned to their position. It was easy to see 
that there were a few Roundhead troopers among them, 
the true spawn of the old Covenant. We must manage this 
matter warily as well as boldly. Evandale, let the officers 
come to this knoll.” 

He moved to a small moss-grown cairn, probably the 
resting-place of some Celtic chief of other times, and the call 
of “ Officers to the front” soon brought them around their 
commander. 

“ I do not call you around me, gentlemen,” said Claver- 
house, “ in the formal capacity of a council of war, for I will 
never turn over on others the responsibility which my rank 
imposes on myself. I only want the benefit of your opinions, 
reserving to myself, as most men do when they ask advice, the 
liberty of following my own. What say you, Cornet Grahame ? 
Shall" we attack these fellows who are bellowing yonder ? 
You are youngest and hottest, and therefore will speak first 
whether I will or no.” 

“Then,” said Cornet Grahame, “while I have the honor 
to carry the standard of the Life Guards it shall never, with 
my will, retreat before rebels. I say, charge, in God's name 
and the king's ! ” 

"And what say you, Allan?" continued Claverhouse, 


148 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


“ for Evandale is so modest we shall never get him to speak 
till you have said what you have to say.” 

‘‘ These fellows,” said Major Allan, an old Cavalier officer 
of experience, “are three or four to one ; I should not mind 
that much upon a fair field, but they are posted in a very for- 
midable strength, and show no inclination to quit it. I there- 
fore think, with deference to Cornet Grahame’s opinion, that 
we should draw back to Tillietudlem, occupy the pass between 
the hills and the open country, and send for reinforcements 
to my Lord Ross, who is lying at Glasgow with a regiment of 
infantry. In this way we should cut them off from the Strath 
of Clyde, and either compel them to come out of their strong- 
hold and give us battle on fair terms, or if they remain here 
we will attack them so soon as our infantry has joined us and 
enabled us to act with effect among these ditches, bogs, and 
quagmires.” 

“ Pshaw !” said the young Cornet, “ what signifies strong 
ground when it is only held by a crew of canting, psalm-sing- 
ing old women ? ” 

“ A man may fight never the worse,” retorted Major Allan, 
“ for honoring both his Bible and Psalter. These fellows will 
prove as stubborn as steel ; I know them of old.” 

“ Their nasal psalmody,” said the Cornet, “ reminds our 
Major of the race of Dunbar.” 

“ Had you been at that race, young man,” retorted Allan, 
“you would have wanted nothing to remind you of it for the 
longest day you have to live.” 

“ Hush, hush, gentlemen,” said Claverhouse, “these are 
untimely repartees. I should like your advice well, Major 
Allan, had our rascally patrols — whom I will see duly punished 
— brought us timely notice of the enemy’s numbers and posi- 
tion. But having once presented ourselves before them in 
line, the retreat of the Life Guards would argue gross timidity 
and be the general signal for insurrection throughout the west ; 
in which case, so far from obtaining any assistance from my 
Lord Ross, I promise you I should have great apprehensions 
of his being cut off before we can join him, or he us. A re- 
treat would have quite the same fatal effect upon the king’s 
cause as the loss of a battle ; and as to the difference of risk 
or of safety it might make with respect to ourselves, that, I 
am sure, no gentleman thinks a moment about. There must 
be some gorges or passes in the morass through which we can 
force our way ; and were we once on firm ground, I trust there 
is no man in the Life Guards who supposes our squadrons, 
though so weak in numbers, are unable to trample into dust 


OLD MORTALITY 


149 


twice the number of these unpractised clowns. What say you, 
my Lord Evandale ? ” 

“ I humbly think,” said Lord Evandale, “that go the day 
how it will it must be a bloody one ; and that we shall lose 
many brave fellows, and probably be obliged to slaughter a 
great number of these misguided men, who, after all, are 
Scotchmen and subjects of King Charles as well as we are.” 

“ Rebels ! rebels ! and undeserving the name either of 
Scotchmen or of subjects,” said Claverhouse ; “ but come, my 
lord, what does your opinion point at ? ” 

“ To enter into a treaty with these ignorant and misled 
men,” said the young nobleman. 

“ A treaty ! and with rebels having arms in their hands ! 
Kever while I live,” answered his commander. 

“ At least send a trumpet and flag of truce summoning 
them to lay down their weapons and disperse,” said Lord 
Evandale, “ upon promise of a free pardon. I have always 
heard that had that been done before the battle of Pentland 
Hills much blood might have been saved. ” 

“Well,” said Claverhouse, “and who the devil do you 
think would carry a summons to these headstrong and des- 
perate fanatics ? They acknowledge no laws of war. Their 
leaders, who have been all most active in the murder of the 
Archbishop of St. Andrews, fight with a rope round their 
necks, and are likely to kill the messenger, were it but to dip 
their followers in loyal blood, and to make them as desperate 
of pardon as themselves.” 

“ I will go myself,” said Evandale, “ if you will permit me. 
I have often risked my blood to spill that of others ; let me 
do so now in order to save human lives.” 

“You shall not go on such an errand, my lord,” said 
Claverhouse ; “ your rank and situation render your safety of 
too much consequence to the country in an age when good prin- 
ciples are so rare. Here’s my brother’s son, Dick Grahame, 
who fears shot or steel as little as if the devil had given him 
armor of proof against it, as the fanatics say be has given to 
his uncle. He shall take a flag of truce and a trumpet, and 
ride down to the edge of the morass to summon them to lay 
down their arms and disperse.” 

“With all my soul. Colonel,” answered the Cornet ; “and 
I’ll tie my cravat on a pike to serve for a white flag ; the ras- 
cals never saw such a pennon of Flanders lace in their lives 
before.” 

“ Colonel Grahame,” said Evandale, while the young offi- 
cer prepared for his expedition, “this young gentleman ig 


150 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


your nephew and your apparent heir ; for God’s sake, permit 
me to go. It was my counsel, and I ought to stand the risk.” 

“Were he my only son,” said Claverhouse, “this is no 
cause and no time to spare him. I hope my private affections 
will never interfere with my public duty. If Dick Graham© 
falls, the loss is chiefly mine ; were your lordship to die, the 
king and country would be the sufferers. Come, gentlemen, 
each to his post. If our summons is unfavorably received we 
will instantly attack ; and, as the old Scottish blazon has it, 
‘ God shaw the right V" 


CHAPTER XVI 


With many a stout thwack and many a bang, 

Hard crab- tree and old iron rang. 

Hudibras, 

Coristet Richard Grahame descended the hill, bearing in 
his hand the extempore flag of truce, and making his managed 
horse keep time by bounds and curvets to the tune which he 
whistled. The trumpeter followed. Five or six horsemen, 
having something the appearance of officers, detached them- 
selves from each flank of the Presbyterian army, and meeting 
in the centre, approached the ditch which divided the hollow 
as near as the morass would permit. Towards this group, 
but keeping the opposite side of the swamp. Cornet Grahame 
directed his horse, his motions being now the conspicuous 
object of attention to both armies ; and, without disparage- 
ment to the courage of either, it is probable there was a 
general wish on both sides that this embassy might save the 
risks and bloodshed of the impending conflict. 

When he had arrived right opposite to those who, by their 
advancing to receive his message, seemed to take upon them- 
selves as the leaders of the enemy. Cornet Grahame com- 
manded his trumpeter to sound a parley. The insurgents 
having no instrument of martial music wherewith to make 
the appropriate reply, one of their number called out with a 
loud, strong voice, demanding to know why he approached 
their leaguer. 

“ To summon you in the king’s name and in that of Col- 
onel John Grahame of Claverhouse, specially commissioned 
by the right honorable Privy Council of Scotland,” answered 
the Cornet, “to lay down your arms and dismiss the followers 
whom ye have led into rebellion, contrary to the laws of God, 
of the king, and of the country.” 

“Return to them that sent thee,” said the insurgent 
leader, “and tell them that we are this day in arms for a 
broken Covenant and a persecuted Kirk ; tell them that we 
renounce the licentious and perjured Charles Stewart, whom 
you call king, even as he renounced the Covenant after hav- 

151 


152 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


ing once and again sworn to prosecute to the utmost of his 
power all the ends thereof, really, constantly, and sincerely 
all the days of his life, having no enemies but the enemies of 
the Covenant, and no friends but its friends. Whereas, far 
from keeping the oath he had called God and angels to wit- 
ness, his first step, after his incoming into these kingdoms, 
was the fearful grasping at the prerogative of the Almighty 
by that hideous Act of Supremacy, together with his expuls- 
ing, without summons, libel, or process of law, hundreds of 
famous, faithful preachers, thereby wringing the bread of 
life out of the mouth of hungry, poor creatures, and forcibly 
cramming their throats with the lifeless, saltless, foisonless, 
lukewarm drammock of the fourteen false prelates and their 
sycophantic, formal, carnal, scandalous creature-curates.” 

“ I did not come to hear you preach,” answered the officer, 
“ but to know in one word if you will disperse yourselves, on 
condition of a free pardon to all but the murderers of the late 
Archbishop of St. Andrews, or whether you will abide the at- 
tack of his Majesty’s forces, which will instantly advance upon 
you.” 

“In one word, then,” answered the spokesman, “we are 
here with our swords on our thighs, as men that watch in the 
night. We will take one part and portion together as brethren 
in righteousness. Whosoever assails us in our good cause, his 
blood be on his own head. So return to them that sent thee, 
and God give them and thee a sight of the evil of your ways ! ” 

“ Is not your name,” said the Cornet, who began to recol- 
lect having seen the person whom he was now speaking with, 
“ John Balfour of Burley ?” 

“ And if it be,” said the spokesman, “ hast thou aught to 
say against it ? ” 

“Only,” said the Cornet, “that, as you are excluded 
from pardon in the name of the king and of my commanding 
officer, it is to these country people, and not to you, that I of- 
fer it ; and it is not with you, or such as you, that I am sent 
to treat.” 

“Thou art a young soldier, friend,” said Burley, '“and 
scant well learned in thy trade, or thou wouldst know that the 
bearer of a flag of truce cannot treat with the army, but through 
their officers ; and that if he presume to do otherwise, he for- 
feits his safe- conduct.” 

While speaking these words, Burley unslung his carabine 
and held it in readiness. 

“ I am not to be intimidated from the discharge of my 
duty by the menaces of a murderer,” said Cornet Grahame. 


OLD MORTALITY 


153 


“ Hear me, good people ; I proclaim, in the name of the king 
and of my commanding officer, full and free pardon to all, ex- 
cepting ” 

“1 give thee fair warning,” said Burley, presenting his 
piece. 

“ A free pardon to all,” continued the young officer, still 
addressing the body of the insurgents — “ to all but- ” 

“ Then the Lord grant grace to thy soul. Amen !” said 
Burley. 

With these words he fired, and Cornet Bichard Grahame 
dropped from his horse. The shot was mortal. The un- 
fortunate young gentleman had only strength to turn himself 
on the ground and mutter forth, “ My poor mother ! ” when 
life forsook him in the effort. His startled horse fled hack to 
the regiment at the gallop, as did his scarce less affrighted 
attendant. 

“ What have you done ? ” said one of Balfour's brother 
officers. 

“My duty,” said Balfour, firmly. “Is it not written, 
4 Thou shalt be zealous even to slaying ? ' Let those who 
dare now venture to speak of truce or pardon ! ” * 

Claverhouse saw his nephew fall. He turned his eye on 
Evandale, while a transitory glance of indescribable emotion 
disturbed for a second's space the serenity of his features, 
and briefly said, “You see the event.” 

“ I will avenge him, or die ! ” exclaimed Evandale ; and, 
putting his horse into motion, rode furiously down the hill, 
followed by his own troop and that of the deceased Cornet, 
which broke down without orders ; and, each striving to be 
the foremost to revenge their young officer, their ranks soon 
fell into confusion. These forces formed the first line of the 
Koyalists. It was in vain that Claverhouse exclaimed, “ Halt ! 
halt ! this rashness will undo us.” It was all that he could ac- 
complish by galloping along the second line, entreating, com- 
manding, and even menacing the men with his sword, that he 
could restrain them from following an example so contagious. 

“ Allan,” he said, as soon as he had rendered the men in some 
degree more steady, “lead them slowly down the hill to sup- 
port Lord Evandale, who is about to need it very much. Both- 
well, thou art a cool and a daring fellow ” 

“ Ay,” muttered Both well, “you can remember that in a 
moment like this.” 

“Lead ten file up the hollow to the right,” continued his 
commanding officer, “ and try every means to get through the 

* See Cornet Grahame. Isote 21. 


154 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


bog ; then form and charge the rebels in flank and rear while 
they are engaged with us in front.” 

Bothwell made a signal of intelligence and obedience, and 
moved off with his party at a rapid pace. 

Meantime the disaster which Claverhouse had apprehended 
did not fail to take place. The troopers who, with Lord 
Evandale, had rushed down upon the enemy, soon found their 
disorderly career interrupted by the impracticable character 
of the ground. Some stuck fast in the morass as they at- 
tempted to struggle through, some recoiled from the attempt 
and remained on the brink, others dispersed to seek a more 
favorable place to pass the swamp. In the midst of this con- 
fusion the first line of the enemy, of which the foremost rank 
knelt, the second stooped, and the third stood upright, poured 
in a close and destructive fire that emptied at least a score of 
saddles, and increased tenfold the disorder into which the 
horsemen had fallen. Lord Evandale in the meantime, at 
the head of a very few well-mounted men, had been able to 
clear the ditch, but was no sooner across than he was charged 
by the left body of the enemy’s cavalry, who, encouraged by 
the small number of opponents that had made their way 
through the broken ground, set upon them with the utmost 
fury, crying, “Woe, woe to the uncircumcised Philistines! 
down with Dagon and all his adherents ! ” 

The young nobleman fought like a lion ; but most of his 
followers were killed, and he himself could not have escaped 
the same fate but for a heavy fire of carabines which Claver- 
house, who had now advanced with the second line near to 
the ditch, poured so effectually upon the enemy that both 
horse and foot for a moment began to shrink, and Lord Evan- 
dale, disengaged from his unequal combat, and finding him- 
self nearly alone, took the opportunity to effect his retreat 
through the morass. But, notwithstanding the loss they had 
sustained by Claverhouse’s first fire, the insurgents became 
soon aware that the advantage of numbers and of position 
were so decidedly theirs that, if they could but persist in 
making a brief but resolute defence, the Life Guards must 
necessarily be defeated. Their leaders flew through their ranks 
exhorting them to stand firm, and pointing out how effica- 
cious their fire must be where both men and horse were ex- 
posed to it ; for the troopers, according to custom, fired with- 
out having dismounted. Claverhouse more than once, when 
he perceived his best men dropping by a fire which they could 
not effectually return, made desperate efforts to pass the bog 
at various points and renew the battle on firm ground ana 


OLD MORTALITY 


155 


fiercer terms. But the close fire of the insurgents, joined to 
the natural difficulties of the pass, foiled his attempts in every 
point. 

“ We must retreat," he said to Evandale, “ unless Both- 
well can effect a diversion in our favor. In the meantime 
draw the men out of fire and leave skirmishers behind these 
patches of alder-bushes to keep the enemy in check." 

These directions being accomplished, the appearance of 
Bothwell with his party was earnestly expected. But Both- 
well had his own disadvantages to struggle with. His detour 
to the right had not escaped the penetrating observation of 
Burley, who made a corresponding movement with the left 
wing of the mounted insurgents, so that when Bothwell, 
after riding a considerable way up the valley, found a place 
at which the bog could be passed, though with some difficult} 7 , 
he perceived he was still in front of a superior enemy. His 
daring character was in no degree checked by this unexpected 
opposition. 

“Follow me, my lads !" he called to his men; “never 
let it be said that we turned our backs before these canting 
Roundheads ! " 

With that, as if inspired by the spirit of his ancestors, he 
shouted, “ Bothwell ! Bothwell ! " and throwing himself into 
the morass, he struggled through it at the head of his party, 
and attacked that of Burley with such fury that he drove 
them back above a pistol-shot, killing three men with his 
own hand. Burley, perceiving the consequences of a defeat 
on this point, and that his men, though more numerous, were 
unequal to the regulars in using their arms and managing 
their horses, threw himself across Both well's way and at- 
tacked him hand to hand. Each of the combatants was con- 
sidered as the champion of his respective party, and a result 
ensued more usual in romance than in real story. Their fol- 
lowers on either side instantly paused and looked on as if the 
fate of the day were to be decided by the event of the combat 
between these two redoubted swordsmen. The combatants 
themselves seemed of the same opinion ; for, after two or 
three eager cuts and pushes had been exchanged, they paused, 
as if by joint consent, to recover the breath which preceding 
exertions had exhausted, and to prepare for a duel in which 
each seemed conscious he had met his match. 

“ You are the murdering villain, Burley," said Bothwell, 
griping his sword firmly, and setting his teeth close ; “you 
escaped me once, but [he swore an oath too tremendous to be 
written down] thy head is worth its weight of silver, and it 


166 WAVERLEY NOVELS 

shall go home at my saddle-bow, or my saddle shall go 
home empty for me.” 

“ Yes,” replied Burley, with stern and gloomy deliberation, 
“ I am that John Balfour who promised to lay thy head where 
thou shouldst never lift it again ; and God do so unto me, and 
more also, if I do not redeem my word ! ” 

“ Then a bed of heather or a thousand merks ! ” said Both- 
well, striking at Burley with his full force. 

“The sword of the^Lord and of Gideon !” answered Bal- 
four, as he parried and returned the blow. 

There have seldom met two combatants more equally 
matched in strength of body, skill in the management of their 
weapons and horses, determined courage, and unrelenting 
hostility. After exchanging many desperate blows, each re- 
ceiving and inflicting several wounds, though of no great 
consequence, they grappled together as if with the desperate 
impatience of mortal hate, and Both well, seizing his enemy by 
the shoulder-belt, while the grasp of Balfour was upon his own 
collar, they came headlong to the ground. The companions of 
Burley hastened to his assistance, but were repelled by the 
dragoons, and the battle became again general. But nothing 
could withdraw the attention of the combatants from each 
other, or induce them to unclose the deadly clasp in which 
they rolled together on the ground, tearing, struggling, and 
foaming with the inveteracy of thoroughbred bull-dogs. 

Several horses passed over them in the melee without their 
quitting hold of each other, until the sword-arm of Bothwell 
was broken by the kick of a charger. He then relinquished 
his grasp with a deep and suppressed groan, and both comba- 
tants started to their feet. Both well's right hand dropped 
helpless by his side, but his left griped to the place where his 
dagger hung ; it had escaped from the sheath in the struggle, 
and, with a look of mingled rage and despair, he stood totally 
defenceless as Balfour, with a laugh of savage joy, flourished 
his sword aloft, and then passed it through his adversary's body. 
Bothwell received the thrust without falling ; it had only 
grazed on his ribs. He attempted no further defence, but, look- 
ing at Burley with a grin of deadly hatred, exclaimed, “Base 
peasant churl, thou hast spilt the blood of a line of kings !” 

“Die, wretch ! die !” said Balfour, redoubling the thrust 
with better aim ; and, setting his foot on Both well's body as 
he fell, he a third time transfixed him with his sword. “ Die, 
bloodthirsty dog ! die as thou hast lived ! die like the beasts 
that perish, hoping nothing, believing nothing ” 

“And fearing nothing !" said Bothwell, collecting tfye 


OLD MORTALITY 


157 


last effort of respiration to utter these desperate words, and 
expiring as soon as they wore spoken. 

To catch a stray horse by the bridle, throw himself upon 
it, and rush to the assistance of his followers, was with Burley 
the affair of a moment. And as the fall of Bothwell had 
given to the insurgents all the courage of which it had de- 
prived his comrades, the issue of this partial contest did not 
remain long undecided. Several soldiers were slain, the rest 
driven back over the morass and dispersed, and the victori- 
ous Burley, with his party, crossed it in their turn, to direct 
against Claverhouse the very manoeuvre which he had in- 
structed Bothwell to execute. Ho now put his troop in order 
with the view of attacking the right wing of the Royalists 
and, sending news of his success to the main body, exhorted 
them, in the name of Heaven, to cross the marsh and work 
out the glorious work of the Lord by a general attack upon 
the enemy. 

Meanwhile Claverhouse, who had in some degree remedied 
the confusion occasioned by the first irregular and unsuc- 
cessful attack, and reduced the combat in front to a distant 
skirmish with firearms, chiefly maintained by some dismounted 
troopers whom he had posted behind the cover of the shrubby 
copses of aiders, which in some places covered the edge of 
the morass, and whose close, cool, and well-aimed fire greatly 
annoyed the enemy, and concealed their own deficiency of 
numbers — Claverhouse, while he maintained the contest in 
this manner, still expecting that a diversion by Bothwell and 
his party might facilitate a general attack, was accosted by 
one of the dragoons, whose bloody face and jaded horse bore 
witness he was come from hard service. 

“ What is the matter, Halliday ? " said Claverhouse, for 
he knew every man in his regiment by name. “ Where is 
Bothwell ? " 

“ Bothwell is down," replied Halliday, “ and many a pretty 
fellow with him." 

“Then the king," said Claverhouse, with his usual com- 
posure, “ has lost a stout soldier. The enemy have passed the 
marsh, I suppose ?" 

“ With a strong body of horse, commanded by the devil 
incarnate that killed Bothwell," answered the terrified soldier. 

“Hush ! hush !" said Claverhouse, putting his finger on 
his lips, “ not a word to any one but me. Lord Evandale, we 
must retreat. The fates will have it so. Draw together the 
men that are dispersed in the skirmishing work. Let Allan 
form the regiment, and do you two retreat up the hill in two 


158 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


bodies, each halting alternately as the other falls hack. I’ll 
keep the rogues in check with the rear-guard, making a stand 
and facing from time to time. They will be over the ditch 
presently, for I see their whole line in motion and preparing 
to cross; therefore lose no time.” 

“ Where is Bothwell with his party ? ” said LordEvandale, 
astonished at the coolness of his commander. 

“Fairly disposed of,” said C'laverhouse, in his ear ; “the 
king has lost a servant and the devil has got one. But away 
to business, Evandale ; ply your spurs and get the men to- 
gether. Allan and you must keep them steady. This re- 
treating is new work for us all ; but our turn will come round 
another day.” 

Evandale and Allan betook themselves to their task ; but 
ere they had arranged the regiment for the purpose of retreat- 
ing in two alternate bodies, a considerable number of the 
enemy had crossed the marsh. Claverhouse, who had retained 
immediately around his person a few of his most active and 
tried men, charged those who had crossed in person while they 
were yet disordered by the broken ground. Some they killed, 
others they repulsed into the morass, and checked the whole 
so as to enable the main body, now greatly diminished, as well 
as disheartened by the loss they had sustained, to commence 
their retreat up the hill. 

But the enemy’s van, being soon reinforced and supported, 
compelled Claverhouse to follow his troops. Never did man, 
however, better maintain the character of a soldier than he 
did that day. Conspicuous by his black horse and white 
feather, he was first in the repeated charges which he made at 
every favorable opportunity to arrest the progress of the pur- 
suers and to cover the retreat of his regiment. The object of 
aim to every one, he seemed as if he were impassive to their 
shot. The superstitious fanatics, who looked upon him as a 
man gifted by the Evil Spirit with supernatural means of de- 
fence, averred that they saw the bullets recoil from his jack- 
boots and buff-coat like hailstones from a rock of granite, as 
he galloped to and fro amid the storm of the battle. Many a 
Whig that day loaded his musket with a dollar cut into slugs, 
in order that a silver bullet (such was their belief) might 
bring down the persecutor of the holy kirk, on whom lead had 
no power. 

“ Try him with the cold steel,” was the cry at every renewed 
charge ; “ powder is wasted on him. Ye might as weel shoot 
at the Auld Enemy himsell.” * 

* See Proof against Shot given by Satan. Note 22 . 


OLD MORTALITY 


159 


But though this was loudly shouted, yet the awe on the in- 
surgents' minds was such that they gave way before Claver- 
house as before a supernatural being, and few men ventured to 
cross swords with him. Still, however, he was lighting in re- 
treat, and with all the disadvantages attending that move- 
ment. The soldiers behind him, as they beheld the increasing 
number of enemies who poured over the morass, became un- 
steady ; and at every successive movement Major Allan and 
LordEvandale found it more and more difficult to bring them 
to halt and form line regularly ; while, on the other hand, 
their motions in the act of retreating became by degrees much 
more rapid than was consistent with good order. As the 
retiring soldiers approached nearer to the top of the ridge, 
from which in so luckless an hour they had descended, the 
panic began to increase. Every one became impatient to place 
the brow of the hill between him and the continued lire of 
the pursuers ; nor could any individual think it reasonable 
that he should be the last in the retreat, and thus sacrifice his 
own safety for that of others. In this mood several troopers 
set spurs to their horses and fled outright, and the others be- 
came so unsteady in their movements and formations that 
their officers every moment feared they would follow the same 
example. 

Amid this scene of blood and confusion, the trampling of 
the horses, the groans of the wounded, the continued fire of 
the enemy, which fell in a succession of unintermitted mus- 
ketry, while loud shouts accompanied each bullet which the 
fall of a trooper showed to have been successfully aimed — 
amid all the terrors and disorders of such a scene, and when 
it was dubious how soon they might be totally deserted by their 
dispirited soldiery, Evandale could not forbear remarking the 
composure of his commanding officer. Not at Lady Marga- 
ret's breakfast-table that morning did his eye appear more 
lively, or his demeanor more composed. He had closed up to 
Evandale for the purpose of giving some orders and picking 
out a few men to reinforce his rear-guard. 

“ If this bout lasts five minutes longer," he said in a whis- 
per, “ our rogues will leave you, my lord, old Allan, and my- 
self the honor of fighting this battle with our own hands. I 
must do something to disperse the musketeers who annoy 
them so hard, or we shall be all shamed. Don't attempt to 
succor me if you see me go down, but keep at the head of your 
men ; get off as you can, in God's name, and tell the king and 
the council I died in my duty ! " 

So saying, and commanding about twenty stout men to 


160 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


follow him, he gave, with this small body, a charge so des- 
perate and unexpected that he drove the foremost of the pur- 
suers back to some distance. In the confusion of the assault 
he singled out Burley, and, desirous to strike terror into his 
followers, he dealt him so severe a blow on the head as cut 
through his steel headpiece and threw him from his horse, 
stunned for the moment, though unwounded. A wonderful 
thing, it was afterwards thought, that one so powerful as Bal- 
four should have sunk under the blow of a man to appearance 
so slightly made as Olaverhouse ; and the vulgar, of course, 
set down to supernatural aid the effect of that energy which a 
determined spirit can give to a feebler arm. Claverhouse had 
in this last charge, however, involved himself too deeply among 
the insurgents, and was fairly surrounded. 

Lord Evandale saw the danger of his commander, his body 
of dragoons being then halted, while that commanded by Allan 
was in the act of retreating. Regardless of Claverhouse's 
disinterested command to the contrary, he ordered the party 
which he headed to charge down hill and extricate their Col- 
onel. Some advanced with him, most halted and stood uncer- 
tain, many ran away. With those who followed Evandale, 
he disengaged Claverhouse. . His assistance just came in time, 
for a rustic had wounded his horse in a most ghastly manner 
by the blow of a scythe, and was about to repeat the stroke 
when Lord Evandale cut him down. As they got out of the 
press they looked round them. Allan's division had ridden 
clear over the hill, that officer's authority having proved alto- 
gether unequal to halt them. Evandale's troop was scattered 
and in total confusion. 

“ What is to be done. Colonel ?" said Lord Evandale. 

“ We are the last men in the field, I think," said Claver- 
house ; “and when men fight as long as they can there is no 
shame in flying. Hector himself would say, ‘ Devil take the 
hindmost,' when there are but twenty against a thousand. 
Save yourselves, my lads, and rally as soon as you can. Come, 
my lord, we must e'en ride for it." 

So saying, he put spurs to his wounded horse ; and the 
generous animal, as if conscious that the life of his rider de- 
pended on his exertions, pressed forward with speed un- 
abated either by pain or loss of blood. * A few officers and 
soldiers followed him, but in a very irregular and tumultuary 
manner. The flight of Claverhouse was the signal for all the 
stragglers who yet offered desultory resistance to fly as fast as 
they could, and yield up the field of battle to the victorious 
insurgents. 


♦ See Claverhouse’s Charger. Note 33, 


CHAPTER XVII 


But see ! through the fast-flashing lightnings of war, 

What steed to the desert flies frantic and far? 

Campbell. 

During the severe skirmish of which we have given the 
details, Morton, together with Cuddie and his mother and 
the Reverend Gabriel Kettledrummle, remained on the brow 
of the hill, near to the small cairn or barrow, beside which 
Claverhouse had held his preliminary council of war, so that 
they had a commanding view of the action which took place in 
the bottom. They were guarded by Corporal Inglisand four 
soldiers, who, as may readily be supposed, were much more 
intent on watching the fluctuating fortunes of the battle than 
in attending to what passed among the prisoners. 

“If yon lads stand to their tackle,” said Cuddie, “we’ll 
hae some chance o’ getting our necks out o’ the hrecham 
again ; but I misdoubt them ; they hae little skeel o’ arms.” 

“ Much is not necessary, Cuddie,” answered Morton ; 
“ they have a strong position, and weapons in their hands, 
and are more than three times the number of their assailants. 
If they cannot fight for their freedom now, they and theirs 
deserve to lose it forever.” 

“0, sirs,” exclaimed Mause, “here’s a goodly spectacle, 
indeed ! My spirit is like that of the blessed Eliliu : it burns 
within me ; my bowels are as wine which lacketh vent, they 
are ready to burst like new bottles. 0 that He may look after 
His ain people in this day of judgment and deliverance ! 
And now, what ailest thou, precious Mr. Gabriel Kettle- 
drummle ? I say, what ailest thou that wert a Hazarite purer 
than snow, whiter than milk, more ruddy than sulphur 
[meaning, perhaps, sapphires] — I say, what ails thee now, 
that thou art blacker than a coal, that thy beauty is departed, 
and thy loveliness withered like a dry potsherd ? Surely it 
is time to be up and be doing, to cry loudly and to spare 
not, and to wrestle for the puir lads that are yonder testifying 
with their ain bluid and that of their enemies.” 

This expostulation implied a reproach on Mr, Kettle- 

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drummle, who, though an absolute Boanerges or son of thun- 
der in the pulpit, when the enemy were afar, and indeed suf- 
ficiently contumacious, as we have seen, when in their power, 
had been struck dumb by the firing, shouts, and shrieks 
which now arose from the valley, and — as many an honest 
man might have been, in a situation where he could neither 
fight nor fly — was too much dismayed to take so favorable 
an opportunity to preach the terrors of Presbytery, as the 
courageous Mause had expected at his hand, or even to pray 
for the successful event of the battle. His presence of mind 
was not, however, entirely lost any more than his jealous re- 
spect for his reputation as a pure and powerful preacher of 
the Word. 

“Hold your peace, woman !" he said, “and do not per- 
turb my inward meditations and the wrestlings wherewith I 
wrestle. But of a verity the shooting of the foemen doth be- 
gin to increase ; peradventure some pellet may attain unto us 
even here. Lo ! I will ensconce me behind the cairn, as be- 
hind a strong wall of defence." 

“He’s but a coward body after a’," said Cuddie, who was 
himself by no means deficient in that sort of courage which 
consists in insensibility to danger ; “ he’s but a daidling coward 
body. He’ll never fill Rumbleberry’s bonnet. Odd ! Rum- 
bleberry fought and flyted like a fleeing dragon. It was a 
great pity, puir man, he couldna cheat the woodie. But they 
say he gaed singing and rejoicing till’t, just as I wad gang to 
a bicker o’ brose, supposing me hungry, as I stand a gude 
chance to be. Eh, sirs ! yon’s an awfu’ sight, and yet ane 
canna keep their een aff frae it ! ’’ 

Accordingly, strong curiosity on the part of Morton and 
Cuddie, together with the heated enthusiasm of old Mause, 
detained them on the spot from which they could best hear 
and see the issue of the action, leaving to Kettledrummle to 
occupy alone his place of security. The vicissitudes of com- 
bat, which we have already described, were witnessed by our 
spectators from the top of the eminence, but without their 
being able positively to determine to what they tended. That 
the Presbyterians defended themselves stoutly was evident 
from the heavy smoke, which, illumined by frequent flashes 
of fire, now eddied along the valley and hid the contending 
parties in its sulphureous shade. On the other hand, the 
continued firing from the nearest side of the morass indicated 
that the enemy persevered in their attack, that the affair was 
fiercely disputed, and that everything was to be apprehended 
from a continued contest in which undisciplined rustics had 


OLD MORTALITY 


163 


to repel the assaults of regular troops, so completely officered 
and armed. 

At length horses, whose caparisons showed that they he 
longed to the Life Guards, began to fly masterless out of the 
confusion. Dismounted soldiers next appeared, forsaking the 
conflict and stragg^ng over the side of the hill in order to 
escape from the scei-3 of action. As the numbers of these 
fugitives increased, the fate of the day seemed no longer 
doubtful. A large body was then seen emerging from the 
smoke, forming irregularly on the hillside, and with difficulty 
kept stationary by their officers, until Evandale’s corps also 
appeared in full retreat. The result of the conflict was then 
apparent, and the joy of the prisoners was corresponding to 
their approaching deliverance. 

“ They hae dune the job for anes,” said Cuddie, “ an they 
ne’er do’t again.” 

“They flee! they flee!” exclaimed Mause, in ecstasy. 
“0, the truculent tyrants ! they are riding now as they never 
rode before. 0, the false Egyptians, the proud Assyrians, 
the Philistines, the Moabites, the Edomites, the Ishmaelites ! 
The Lord has brought sharp swords upon them to make them 
food for the fowls of heaven and the beasts of the field. See 
how the clouds roll and the fire flashes ahint them, and goes 
forth before the chosen of the Covenant, e’en like the pillar o’ 
cloud and the pillar o’ flame that led the people of Israel out 
o’ the land of. Egypt ! This is indeed a day of deliverance to 
the righteous, a day of pouring out of wrath to the persecutors 
and the ungodly ! ” 

“Lord save us, mither,” said Cuddie, “haud the claver- 
ing tongue o’ ye, and lie down ahint the cairn, like Kettle- 
drummle, honest man ! The Whigamore bullets ken unco 
little discretion, and will just as sune knock out the liarns o’ 
a psalm-singing auld wife as a swearing dragoon.” 

“Fear naething for me, Cuddie,” said the old dame, 
transported to ecstasy by the success of her party; “fear 
naething for me ! I will stand, like Deborah, on the tap o’ 
the cairn, and tak up my sang o’ reproach against these men 
of Harosheth of the Gentiles, whose horse-hoofs are broken by 
their prancing.” 

The enthusiastic old woman would, in fact, have accom- 
plished her purpose of mounting on the cairn and becoming, 
as she said, a sign and a banner to the people, had not Cuddie, 
with more filial tenderness than respect, detained her by such 
force as his shackled arms would permit him to exert. 

“Eh, sirs !” he said, having accomplished this task, “look 


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out yonder, Milnwood ; saw ye ever mortal fight like the deevil 
Claver’se ? Yonder he’s been thrice doun amang them, and 
thrice cam free aff. But I think we’ll soon be free oursells, 
Milnwood. Inglis and his troopers look ower their shouthers 
very aften, as if they liked the road ahint them better than 
the road afore.” 

Ouddie was not mistaken ; for, when the main tide of fugi- 
tives passed at a little distance from the spot where they were 
stationed, the corporal and his party fired their carabines at 
random upon the advancing insurgents, and, abandoning all 
charge of their prisoners, joined the retreat of their comrades. 
Morton and the old woman, whose hands were at liberty, lost 
no time in undoing the bonds of Cuddie and of the clergyman, 
both of whom had been secured by a cord tied round their 
arms above the elbows. By the time this was accomplished, 
the rear-guard of the dragoons, which still preserved some 
order, passed beneath the hillock or rising ground which was 
surmounted by the cairn already repeatedly mentioned. They 
exhibited all the hurry and confusion incident to a forced re- 
treat, but still continued in a body. Claverhouse led the van, 
his naked sword deeply dyed with blood, as were his face and 
clothes. His horse was all covered with gore, and now reeled 
with weakness. Lord Evandale, in not much better plight, 
brought up the rear, still exhorting the soldiers to keep to- 
gether and fear nothing. Several of the men were wounded, 
and one or two dropped from their horses as they surmounted 
the hill. 

Mause’s zeal broke forth once more at this spectacle, while 
she stood on the heath with her head uncovered and her gray 
hairs streaming in the wind, no bad representation of a super- 
annuated bacchante, or Thessalian witch in the agonies of in- 
cantation. She soon discovered Claverhouse at the head of 
the fugitive party, and exclaimed with bitter irony, “ Tarry, 
tarry, ye wha were aye sae blithe to be at the meetings of the 
saints, and wad ride every muir in Scotland to find a con- 
venticle. Wilt thou not tarry now thou hast found ane ? 
Wilt thou not stay for one word mair ? Wilt thou na bide the 
afternoon preaching ? Wae betide ye !” she said, suddenly 
changing her tone, “ and cut the houghs of the creature whase 
fleetness ye trust in ! Sheugh, sheugh ! awa’ wi’ ye that hae 
spilled sae muckle bluid, and now wad save your ain — awa’ wi’ 
ye for a railing Rabshakeh, a cursing Shimei, a bloodthirsty 
Doeg ! The sword’s drawn now that winna be lang o’ o’er- 
taking ye, ride as fast as ye will.” 

Claverhouse, it may be easily supposed, was too busy to at- 


OLD MORTALITY 


165 


tend to her reproaches, but hastened over the hill, anxious to 
get the remnant of his men out of gun-shot, in hopes of again 
collecting the fugitives round his standard. But as the rear 
of his followers rode over the ridge a shot struck Lord Evan- 
dale's horse, which instantly sunk down dead beneath him. 
Two of the Whig horsemen who were the foremost in the pur- 
suit hastened up with the purpose of killing him, for hitherto 
there had been no quarter given. Morton, on the other hand, 
rushed forward to save his life, if possible, in order at once to 
indulge his natural generosity, and to requite the obligation 
which Lord Evandale had conferred on him that morning, and 
under which circumstances had made him wince so acutely. 
Just as he had assisted Evandale, who was much wounded, to 
extricate himself from his dying horse and to gain his feet, 
the two horsemen came up, and one of them, exclaiming, 
“ Have at the red-coated tyrant ! ” made a blow at the young 
nobleman, which Morton parried with difficulty, exclaiming to 
the rider, who was no other than Burley himself, “ Give 
quarter to this gentleman, for my sake — for the sake,” he 
added, observing that Burley did not immediately recognize 
him, “ of Henry Morton, who so lately sheltered you.” 

“ Henry Morton !” replied Burley, wiping his bloody brow 
with his bloodier hand ; “ did I not say that the son of Silas 
Morton would come forth out of the land of bondage, nor be 
long an indweller in the tents of Ham ? Thou art a brand 
snatched out of the burning. But for this booted apostle of 
Prelacy, he shall die the death ! We must smite them hip and 
thigh, even from the rising to the going down of the sun. It 
is our commission to slay them like Amalek, and utterly de- 
stroy all they have, and spare neither man nor woman, infant 
nor suckling ; therefore hinder me not,” he continued, en- 
deavoring again to cut down Lord Evandale, “ for this work 
must not be wrought negligently.” 

“ You must not, and you shall not, slay him, more es- 
pecially while incapable of defence,” said Morton, planting 
himself before Lord Evandale so as to intercept any blow that 
should be aimed at him. “ I owed my life to him this morn- 
ing — my life, which was endangered solely by my having 
sheltered you ; and to shed his blood when he can offer no 
effectual resistance were not only a cruelty abhorrent to God 
and man, but detestable ingratitude both to him and to me.” 

Burley paused. “Thou art yet,” he said, “in the court 
of the Gentiles, and I compassionate thy human blindness 
and frailty. Strong meat is not fit for babes, nor the mighty 
and grinding dispensation under which I draw my sword for. 


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those whose hearts are yet dwe^mg in huts of clay, wnose 
footsteps are tangled in the mesh of mortal sympathies, and 
who clothe themselves in the righteousness that is as filthy 
rags. But to gain a soul to the truth is better than to send 
one to Tophet ; therefore I give quarter to this youth, pro- 
viding the grant is confirmed by the general council of God's 
army, whom He hath this day blessed with so signal a deliv- 
erance. Thou art unarmed. Abide my return here. I must 
yet pursue these sinners, the Amalekites, and destroy them 
till they be utterly consumed from the face of the land, even 
from Havilah unto Shur." 

So saying, he set spurs to his horse and continued to pur- 
sue the chase. 

“Cuddie," said Morton, “for God’s sake catch a horse as 
quickly as you can. I will not trust Lord Evandale’slife with 
these obdurate men. You are wounded, my lord. Are you 
able to continue your retreat ? ’’ he continued, addressing him- 
self to his prisoner, who, half stunned by the fall, was but 
beginning to recover himself. 

“ I think so," replied Lord Evandale. “ But is it possi- 
ble ? Do I owe my life to Mr. Morton 

“ My interference would have been the same from com- 
mon humanity," replied Morton ; “ to your lordship it was a 
sacred debt of gratitude." 

Cuddie at this instant returned with a horse. 

“ God-sake, munt — munt and ride like a fleeing hawk, my 
lord," said the good-natured f ellow, “ for ne’er be in me if 
they arena killing every ane o’ the wounded and prisoners !’’ 

Lord Evandale mounted the horse, while Cuddie officiously 
held the stirrup. 

“ Stand off, good fellow, thy courtesy may cost thy life. 
Mr. Morton," he continued, addressing Henry, “ this makes 
us more than even ; rely on it, I will never forget your gener- 
osity. Farewell." 

He turned his horse, and rode swiftly away in the direc- 
tion which seemed least exposed to pursuit. 

Lord Evandale had just rode off, when several of the in- 
surgents, who were in the front of the pursuit, came up de- 
nouncing vengeance on Henry Morton and Cuddie for having 
aided the escape of a Philistine, as they called the young 
nobleman. 

“ What wad ye hae had us to do !’’ cried Cuddie. “ Had 
we aught to stop a man wi’ that had twa pistols and a sword ? 
Sudna ye hae come faster up yoursells, instead of flyting at 
huz ?’’ 


OLD MORTALITY 


107 


This excuse would hardly have passed current ; but Ket- 
tledrummle, who now awoke from his trance of terror, and 
was known to, and reverenced by, most of the Wanderers, to- 
gether with Mause, who possessed their appropriate language 
as well as the preacher himself, proved active and effectual 
intercessors. 

“ Touch them not, harm them not,” exclaimed Kettle- 
drummle, in his very best double-bass tones; “this is the 
son of the famous Silas Morton, by whom the Lord wrought 
great things in this land at the breaking forth of the reforma- 
tion from Prelacy, when there was a plentiful pouring forth 
of the Word and a renewing of the Covenant; a hero and 
champion of those blessed days when there was power and 
efficacy, and convincing and converting of sinners, and heart- 
exercises, and fellowships of saints, and a plentiful flowing 
forth of the spices of the garden of Eden.” 

“And this is my son Cuddie,” exclaimed Mause, in her 
turn, “thesonof his father, Judden Headrigg, wha wasadouce 
honest man, and of me, Mause Middlemas, an unworthy pro- 
fessor and follower of the pure gospel, and ane o' your ain folk. 
Is it not written, Cut ye not off the tribe of the families of 
the Kohathites from among the Levites ?’ Numb el's fourth 
and aughteenth. 0, sirs ! dinna be standing here prattling 
wk honest folk when ye suld be following forth your victory 
with which Providence has blessed ye.” 

This party having passed on, they were immediately beset 
by another, to whom it was necessary to give the same ex- 
planation. Kettledrummle, whose fear was much dissipated 
since the firing had ceased, again took upon him to be inter- 
cessor, and grown bold, as lie felt his good word necessary for 
the protection of his late fellow-captives, he laid claim to no 
small share of the merit of the victory, appealing to Mor- 
ton and Cuddie whether the tide of battle had not turned 
while he prayed on the Mount of Jehovah-Nissi, like Moses, 
that Israel might prevail over Amalek ; but granting them, 
at the same time, the credit of holding up his hands when they 
waxed heavy, as those of the prophet were supported by Aaron 
and Hur. It seems probable that Kettledrummle allotted this 
part in the success to his companions in adversity lest they 
should be tempted to disclose his carnal self-seeking and fall- 
ing away, in regarding too closely his own personal safety. 

These strong testimonies in .favor of the liberated captives 
quickly flew abroad, with many exaggerations, among the 
victorious army. The reports on the subject were various ; 
but it was universally agreed that young Morton of Milnwood, 


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the son of the stout soldier of the Covenant, Silas Morton, 
together with the precious Gabriel Kettledrummle, and a sin- 
gular devout Christian woman, whom many thought as good 
as himself at extracting a doctrine or a use, whether of ter- 
ror or consolation, had arrived to support the good old cause, 
with a reinforcement of a hundred well-armed men from the 
Middle Ward.* 

* See Skirmish at Drumclcg. Note 24. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


When pulpit, drum ecclesiastic, 

Was beat with fists instead of a stick. 

Hudibras. 

In the meantime, the insurgent cavalry returned from the 
pursuit, jaded and worn out with their unwonted efforts, and 
the infantry assembled on the ground which they had won, 
fatigued with toil and hunger. Their success, however, was a 
cordial to every bosom, and seemed even to serve in the stead 
of food and refreshment. It was, indeed, much more brilliant 
than they durst have ventured to anticipate ; for, with no 
great loss on their part, they had totally routed a regiment of 
picked men, commanded by the first officer in Scotland, and 
one whose very name had long been a terror to them. Their 
success seemed even to have upon their spirits the effect of a 
sudden and violent surprise, so much had their taking up 
arms been a measure of desperation rather than of hope. 
Their meeting was also casual, and they had hastily arranged 
themselves under such commanders as were remarkable for 
zeal and courage, without much respect to any other qualities. 
It followed from this state of disorganization that the whole 
army appeared at once to resolve itself into a general commit- 
tee for considering what steps were to be taken in consequence 
of their success, and no opinion could be started so wild that 
it had not some favorers and advocates. Some proposed they 
should march to Glasgow, some to Hamilton, some to Edin- 
burgh, some to London. Some were for sending a deputa- 
tion of their number to London to convert Charles II. to a 
sense, of the error of his ways ; and others, less charitable, 
proposed either to call a new successor to the crown, or to de- 
clare Scotland a free republic. A free parliament of the nation, 
and a free assembly of the Kirk, were the objects of the more 
sensible and moderate of the party. In the meanwhile, a 
clamor arose among the soldiers for bread and other neces- 
saries ; and while all complained of hardship and hunger, 
none took the necessary measures to procure supplies. In 
short, the camp of the Covenanters, even in the very moment 


169 


170 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


of success, seemed about to dissolve like a rope of sand, from 
want of the original principles of combination and union. 

Burley, who had now returned from the pursuit, found 
his followers in this distracted state. With the ready talent 
of one accustomed to encounter exigencies, he proposed that 
one hundred of the freshest men should be drawn out for 
duty ; that a small number of those who had hitherto acted 
as leaders should constitute a committee of direction until offi- 
cers should be regularly chosen ; and that, to crown the victory, 
Gabriel Kettledrummle should be called upon to improve the 
providential success which they had obtained by a word in 
season addressed to the army. He reckoned very much, and 
not without reason, on this last expedient as a means of en- 
gaging the attention of the bulk of the insurgents, while he 
himself and two or three of their leaders held a private coun- 
cil of war, undisturbed by the discordant opinions or senseless 
clamor of the general body. 

Kettledrummle more than answered the expectations of 
Burley. Two mortal hours did he preach at a breathing ; and 
certainly no lungs or doctrine excepting his own could have 
kept up, for so long a time, the attention of men in such 
precarious circumstances. But he possessed in perfection a 
sort of rude and familiar eloquence peculiar to the preachers 
of that period, which, though it would have been fastidiously 
rejected by an audience which possessed any portion of taste, 
was a cake of the right leaven for the palates of those whom 
he now addressed. His text was from the forty-ninth chap- 
ter of Isaiah, “ Even the captives of the mighty shall betaken 
away, and the prey of the terrible shall be delivered : for I 
will contend with him that contendeth with thee, and I will 
save thy children. And I will feed them that oppress thee 
with their own flesh ; and they shall be drunken with their 
own blood, as with sweet wine : and all flesh shall know that 
I the Lord am thy Saviour and thy Redeemer, the Mighty 
One of Jacob.” 

The discourse which he pronounced upon this subject was 
divided into fifteen heads, each of which was garnished with 
seven uses of application, two of consolation, two of terror, 
two declaring the causes of backsliding and of wrath, and 
one announcing the promised and expected deliverance. The 
first part of his text he applied to his own deliverance and 
that of his companions ; and took occasion to speak a few 
words in praise of young Milnwood, of whom, as of a champion 
of the Covenant, he augured great things. The second part 
he applied to the punishments which were about to fall upon 


OLD MORTALITY 


171 


the persecuting government. At times he was familiar and 
colloquial ; now he was loud, energetic, and boisterous ; some 
parts of his discourse might be called sublime, and others 
sunk below burlesque. Occasionally he vindicated with greet 
animation the right of every freeman to worship God accord- 
ing to his own conscience ; and presently he charged the guilt 
and misery of the people on the awful negligence of their 
rulers, who had not only failed to establish Presbytery as the 
national religion, but had tolerated sectaries of various de- 
scriptions, Papists, Prelatists, Erastians assuming the name 
of Presbyterians, Independents, Socinians, and Quakers ; all 
of whom Kettledrummle proposed, by one sweeping act, to 
expel from the land, and thus re-edify in its integrity the 
beauty of the sanctuary. He next handled very pithily the 
doctrine of defensive arms and of resistance to Charles II., 
observing that, instead of a nursing father to the Kirk, that 
monarch had been a nursing father to none but his own bas- 
tards. He went at some length through the life and conver- 
sation of that joyous prince, few parts of which, it must be 
owned, were qualified to stand the rough handling of so un- 
courtly an orator, who conferred on him the hard names of 
Jeroboam, Omri, Ahab, Shallum, Pekah, and every other 
evil monarch recorded in the Chronicles, and concluded with 
a round application of the Scripture, “ Tophet is ordained of 
old ; yea, for the Kikg it is provided : he hath made it deep 
and large ; the pile thereof is fire and much wood : the 
breath of the Lord, like a stream of brimstone, doth kindle it." 

Kettledrummle had no sooner ended his sermon and de- 
scended from the huge rock which had served him for a pul- 
pit than his post was occupied by a pastor of a very different 
description. The Reverend Gabriel was advanced in years, 
somewhat corpulent, with a loud voice, a square face, and a 
set of stupid and unanimated features, in which the bcdy 
seemed more to predominate over the spirit than was seemly in 
a sound divine. The youth who succeeded him in exhorting 
this extraordinary convocation, Ephraim Macbriar by name, 
was hardly twenty years old ; yet his thin features already in- 
dicated that a constitution, naturally hectic, was worn out by 
vigils, by fasts, by the rigor of imprisonment, and the fa- 
tigues incident to a fugitive life. Young as he was he had been 
twice imprisoned for several months, and suffered many se- 
verities, which gave him great influence with those of his own 
sect. He threw his faded eyes over the multitude and over 
the scene of battle ; and a light of triumph arose in his glance, 
his pale yet striking features were colored with a transient and 


172 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


hectic blush of joy. He folded his hands, raised his face 
to heaven, and seemed lost in mental prayer and thanksgiving 
ere he addressed the people. When he spoke, his faint and 
broken voice seemed at first inadequate to express his concep- 
tions. But the deep silence of the assembly, the eagerness 
with which the ear gathered every word, as the famished Is- 
raelites collected the heavenly manna, had a corresponding 
effect upon the preacher himself. His words became more 
distinct, his manner more earnest and energetic ; it seemed as 
if religious zeal was triumphing over bodily weakness and in- 
firmity. His natural eloquence was not altogether untainted 
with the coarseness of his sect ; and yet, by the influence of 
a good natural taste, it was freed from the grosser and more 
ludicrous errors of his contemporaries ; and the language of 
Scripture, which in their mouths was sometimes degraded 
by misapplication, gave, in Macbriar’s exhortation, a rich and 
solemn effect, like that which is produced by the beams of the 
sun streaming through the storied representation of saints 
and martyrs on the Gothic window of some ancient cathe- 
dral. 

He painted the desolation of the church, during the late 
period of her distresses, in the most affecting colors. He de- 
scribed her, like Hagar watching the waning life of her infant 
amid the fountainless desert ; like Judah, under her palm- 
tree, mourning for the devastation of her temple ; like Rachel, 
weeping for her children and refusing comfort. But he 
chiefly rose into rough sublimity when addressing the men yet 
reeking from battle. He called on them to remember the 
great things which God had done for them, and to persevere 
in the career which their victory had opened. 

“ Your garments are dyed, but not with the juice of the 
wine-press ; your swords are filled with blood,” he exclaimed, 
“ but not with the blood of goats or lambs ; the dust of the 
desert on which ye stand is made fat with gore, but not with 
the blood of bullocks, for the Lord hath a sacrifice in Bozrah, 
and a great slaughter in the land of Idumea. These were not 
the firstlings of the flock, the small cattle of burnt-offerings, 
whose bodies lie like dung on the ploughed field of the husband- 
man ; this is not the savor of myrrh, of frankincense, or of 
sweet herbs that is steaming in your nostrils ; but these 
bloody trunks are the carcasses of those who held the bow and 
the lance, who were cruel and would show no mercy, whose 
voice roared like the sea, who rode upon horses, every man in 
array as if to battle ; they are the carcasses even of the mighty 
men of war that came against Jacob the day of his deliver* 


OLD MORTALITY 


173 


ance, and the smoke is that of the devouring fires that have 
consumed them. And those wild hills that surround you are 
not a sanctuary planked with cedar and plated with silver ; 
nor are ye ministering priests at the altar with censers and 
with torches ; but ye hold in your hands the sword and the 
bow and the weapons of death. And yet verily, I say unto 
you, that not when the ancient temple was in its first glory 
was there offered sacrifice more acceptable than that which 
you have this day presented, giving to the slaughter the 
tyrant and the oppressor, with the rocks for your altars, and 
the sky for your vaulted sanctuary, and your own good swords 
for the instruments of sacrifice. Leave not, therefore, the 
plough in the furrow ; turn not back from the path in which 
you have entered like the famous worthies of old, whom God 
raised up for the glorifying of His name and the deliverance 
of His afflicted people ; halt not in the race you are running, 
lest the latter end should be worse than the beginning. Where- 
fore, set up a standard in the land ; blow a trumpet upon the 
mountains ; let not the shepherd tarry by his sheepfold, or 
the seedsman continue in the ploughed field ; but make the 
watch strong, sharpen the arrows, burnish the shields, name 
ye the captains of thousands, and captains of hundreds, of 
fifties, and of tens ; call the footmen like the rushing of winds, 
and cause the horsemen to come up like the sound of many 
waters ; for the passages of the destroyers are stopped, their 
rods are burned, and the face of their men of battle hath been 
turned to flight. Heaven has been with you and has broken 
the bow of the mighty ; then let every mam’s heart be as the 
heart of the valiant Maccabeus, every man’s hand as the hand 
of the mighty Samson, every man’s sword as that of Gideon, 
which turned not back from the slaughter ; for the banner of 
reformation is spread abroad on the mountains in its first love- 
liness, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. 

“ Well is he this day that shall barter his house for a 
helmet, and sell his garment for a sword, and cast in his lot 
with the children of the Covenant, even to the fulfilling of 
the promise ; and woe, woe unto him who, for carnal ends 
and self-seeking, shall withhold himself from the great work, 
for the curse shall abide with him, even the bitter curse of 
Meroz, because he came not to the help of the Lord against 
the mighty. Up, then, and be doing ; the blood of martyrs, 
reeking upon scaffolds, is crying for vengeance ; the bones 
of saints, which lie whitening in the highways, are pleading 
for retribution ; the groans of innocent captives, from desolate 
isles of the sea, and from the dungeons of the tyrants' high 


174 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


places, cry for deliverance ; the prayers of persecuted Chris- 
tians, sheltering themselves in dens and deserts from the 
sword of their persecutors, famished with hunger, starving 
with cold, lacking fire, food, shelter, and clothing, because 
they serve God rather than man — all are with you, pleading, 
watching, knocking, storming the gates of heaven in your 
behalf. Heaven itself shall fight for you, as the stars in 
their courses fought against Sisera. Then whoso will deserve 
immortal fame in this world, and eternal happiness in that 
which is to come, let them enter into God’s service, and take 
arles at the hand of His servant — a blessing, namely, upon 
him and his household, and his children, to the ninth gener- 
ation, even the blessing of the promise, forever and ever ! 
Amen.” 

The eloquence of the preacher was rewarded by the deep 
hum o^ stern approbation which resounded through the armed 
assemblage at the conclusion of an exhortation so well suited 
to that which they had done, and that which remained for 
them to do. The wounded forgot their pain, the faint and 
hungry their fatigues and privations, as they listened to doc- 
trines which elevated them alike above the wants and calami- 
ties of the world, and identified their cause with that of the 
Deity. Many crowded around the preacher as he descended 
from the eminence on which he stood, and, clasping him 
with hands on which the gore was not yet hardened, pledged 
their sacred vow that they would play the part of Heaven’s 
true soldiers. Exhausted by his own enthusiasm, and by the 
animated fervor which he had exerted in his discourse, the 
preacher could only reply in broken accents, “ God bless you, 
my brethren — it is His cause. Stand strongly up and play 
the men ; the worst that can befall us is but a brief and 
bloody passage to heaven.” 

Balfour and the other leaders had not lost the time which 
was employed in these spiritual exercises. Watch-fires were 
lighted, sentinels were posted, and arrangements were made 
to refresh the army with such provisions as had been hastily 
collected from the nearest farm-houses and villages. The 
present necessity thus provided for, they turned their thoughts 
to the future. They had despatched parties to spread the 
news of their victory, and to obtain, either by force or favor, 
supplies of what they stood most in need of. In this they 
had succeeded beyond their hopes, having at one village seized 
a small magazine of provisions, forage, and ammunition 
which had been provided for the royal forces. This success 
jxot only gave them relief at the time, but such hopes for the 


OLD MORTALITY 


m 


future, that, whereas formerly some of their number had 
begun to slacken in their zeal, they now unanimously resolved 
to abide together in arms, and commit themselves and their 
cause to the event of war. 

And whatever may be thought of the extravagance or 
narrow-minded bigotry of many of their tenets, it is impos- 
sible to deny the praise of devoted courage to a few hundred 
peasants, who, without leaders, without money, without mag- 
azines, without any fixed plan of action, and almost without 
arms, borne out only by their innate zeal and a detestation of 
the oppression of their rulers, ventured to declare open war 
against an established government, supported by a regular 
army and the whole force of three kingdoms. 


CHAPTER XIX 


Why, then, say an old man can do somewhat. 

Henry IV . , Part II. 

We must now return to the Tower of Tillietudlem, which the 
march of the Life Guards on the morning of this eventful day 
had left to silence and anxiety. The assurances of Lord E van- 
dale had not succeeded in quelling the apprehensions of Edith. 
She knew him generous, and faithful to his word ; but it 
seemed too plain that he suspected the object of her interces- 
sion to be a successful rival ; and was it not expecting from 
him an effort above human nature to suppose that he was to 
watch over Morton’s safety, and rescue him from all the dan- 
gers to which his state of imprisonment, and the suspicions 
which he had incurred, must repeatedly expose him ? She 
therefore resigned herself to the most heartrending appre- 
hensions, without admitting, and indeed almost without lis- 
teningto, the multifarious grounds of consolation which Jenny 
Dennison brought forward, one after another, like a skilful 
general who charges with the several divisions of his troops in 
regular succession. 

First, Jenny was morally positive that young Milnwood 
would come to no harm ; then, if he did, there was consolation 
in the reflection that Lord Evandale was the better and more 
appropriate match of the two ; then, there was every chance 
of a battle in which the said Lord Evandale might be killed, 
and there wad be nae mair fash about that job ; then, if the 
Whigs gat the better, Milnwood and Cuddie might come to 
the Castle, and carry off the beloved of their hearts by the 
strong hand. “For I forgot to tell ye, madam,” continued 
the damsel, putting her handkerchief to her eyes, “ that puir 
Cuddie’s in the hands of the Philistines as weel as young Miln- 
wood, and he was brought here a prisoner this morning, and 
I was fain to speak Tam Ilallidav fair, and fleecli him, to let 
me near the puir creature ; but Cuddie wasna sae thankfu’ as 
he needed till hae been neither,” she added, and at the same 
time changed her tone, and briskly withdrew the handker- 
chief from her face ; “so I will ne’er waste my een wi’ greet- 

m 


OLD MORTALITY 


ill 


ing about the matter. There wad be aye enow o' young men 
left, if they were to hang the tae half o' them.” 

The other inhabitants of the Castle were also in a state 
of dissatisfaction and anxiety. Lady Margaret thought that 
Colonel Grahame, in commanding an execution at the door of 
her house, and refusing to grant a reprieve at her request, had 
fallen short of the deference due to her rank, and had even 
encroached on her seigniorial rights. 

“The Colonel,” she said, “ought to have remembered, 
brother, that the barony of Tillietudlem has the baronial 
privilege of pit and gallows ; and therefore, if the lad was to 
be executed on my estate — which I consider as an unhandsome 
thing, seeing it is in the possession of females, to whom such 
tragedies cannot be acceptable — he ought, at common law, to 
have been delivered up to my bailie, and justified at his 
sight.” 

“Martial law, sister,” answered Major Bellenden, “super- 
sedes every other. But I must own I think Colonel Grahame 
rather deficient in attention to you ; and I am not over and 
above pre-eminently flattered by his granting to young Evan- 
dale — I suppose because he is a lord, and has interest with 
the privy council — a request which he refused to so old a ser- 
vant of the king as I am. But so long as the poor young 
fellow's life is saved, I can comfort myself with the fag-end 
of a ditty as old as myself.” And therewithal he hummed a 
stanza : 

“ And what though winter will pinch severe 

Through locks of gray and a cloak that’s old? 

Yet keep up thy heart, bold cavalier, 

For a cup of sack shall fence the cold. 

I must be your guest here to-day, sister. I wish to hear the 
issue of this gathering on Loudon Hill, though I cannot con- 
ceive their standing a body of horse appointed like our guests 
this morning. Woe's me, the time has been that I would 
have liked ill to have sat in biggit wa's waiting for the news 
of a skirmish to be fought within ten miles of me ! But, as 
the old song goes, 

“ For time will rust the brightest blade, 

And years will break the strongest bow ; 

Was ever wight so starkly made, 

But time and years would overthrow?” 

“ We are well pleased you will stay, brother,” said Lady 
Margaret ; “I will take mv old privilege to look after my 


118 . 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


household, whom this collation has thrown into some disorder, 
although it is uncivil to leave you alone.” 

“ 0, I hate ceremony as I hate a stumbling horse,” replied 
the Major. “ Besides, your person would be with me, and 
your mind with the cold meat and reversionary pasties. Where 
is Edith ? ” 

“ Gone to her room a little evil-disposed, I am informed, 
and laid down in her bed for a gliif,” said her grandmother ; 
“as soon as she wakes, she shall take some drops.” 

“ Pooh ! pooh ! she’s only sick of the soldiers,” answered 
Major Bellenden. “ She’s not accustomed to see one acquaint- 
ance led out to be shot, and another marching otf to actual 
service, with some chance of not finding his way back again. 
She would soon be used to it, if the Civil War were to break 
out again.” 

“ God forbid, brother !” said Lady Margaret. 

“ Ay, Heaven forbid, as you say ; and, in the meantime. 
I’ll take a hit at trick track with Harrison.” 

“ He has ridden out, sir,” said Gudyill, “to try if he can 
hear any tidings of the battle.” 

“ D — n the battle,” said the Major ; “ it puts this family 
as much out of order as if there had never been such a thing 
in the country before ; and yet there was such a place as Kil- 
syth, John.” 

“ Ay, and as Tippermuir, your honor,” replied Gudyill, 
“ where I was his honor my late master’s rear-rank man.” 

“ And Alford, John,” pursued the Major, “ where I com- 
manded the horse ; and Innerlochy, where I was the Great 
Marquis’s aide-de-camp ; and Auld Earn, and Brig o’ Dee.” 

“ And Philiphaugh, your honor,” said John. 

“ Umph !” replied the Major; “the less, John, we say 
about that matter, the better.” 

However, being once fairly embarked on the subject of 
Montrose’s campaigns, the Major and John Gudyill carried on 
the war so stoutly as for a considerable time to keep at bay 
the formidable enemy called Time, with whom retired veterans, 
during the quiet close of a bustling life, usually wage an un- 
ceasing hostility. 

It has been frequently remarked that the tidings of im- 
portant events fly with a celerity almost beyond the power of 
credibility, and that reports, correct in the general point, 
though inaccurate in details, precede the certain intelligence, 
as if carried by the birds of the air. Such rumors anticipate 
the reality, not unlike to the “ shadows of coming events,” 
which occupy the imagination of the Highland seer. HarrL 


OLD MORTALITY 


179 


son, in his ride, encountered some such report concerning the 
event of the battle, and turned his horse back to Tillietudlem 
in great dismay. He made it his first business to seek out 
the Major, and interrupted him in the midst of a prolix ac- 
count of the siege and storm of Dundee with the ejaculation, 
“ Heaven send. Major, that we do not see a siege of Tillietud- 
lem before we are many days older ! ” 

“ How is that, Harrison ? what the devil do you mean ?” 
exclaimed the astonished veteran. 

“ Troth, sir, there is strong and increasing belief that 
Claver’se is clean broken, some say killed ; that the soldiers 
are all dispersed ; and that the rebels are hastening this way, 
threatening death and devastation to a* that will not take the 
Covenant.” 

“ I will never believe that,” said the Major, starting on his 
feet — “ I will never believe that the Life Guards would re- 
treat before rebels ; and yet why need I say that,” he contin- 
ued, checking himself, “ when I have seen such sights myself ? 
Send out Pike and one or two of the servants for intelligence, 
and let all the men in the Castle and in the village that can 
be trusted take up arms. This old tower may hold them play 
a bit if it were but victualled and garrisoned, and it com- 
mands the pass between the high and low countries. IPs 
lucky I chanced to be here. Go, muster men, Harrison. You, 
Gudyill, look what provisions you have, or can get brought 
in, and be ready, if the news be confirmed, to knock down as 
many bullocks as you have salt for. The well never goes dry. 
There are some old-fashioned guns on the battlements ; if we 
had but ammunition we should do well enough.” 

“ The soldiers left some casks of ammunition at the G range 
this morning, to bide their return,” said Harrison. 

“ Hasten, then,” said the Major, “and bring it into the 
Castle, with every pike, sword, pistol, or gun that is within our 
reach ; don’t leave so much as a bodkin. Lucky that I was 
here ! I will speak to my sister instantly.” 

Lady Margaret Bellenden was astounded at intelligence so 
unexpected and so alarming. It had seemed to her that the 
imposing force which had that morning left her walls was suf- 
ficient to have routed all the disaffected in Scotland, if col- 
lected in a body ; and now her first reflection w r as upon the 
inadequacy of their own means of resistance to an army strong 
enough to have defeated Claverhouse and such select troops. 
“Woe’s me ! woe’s me !” said she ; “ what will all that we 
pan do ayail us, brother ? What will resistance do but bring 


180 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


sure destruction on the house and on the bairn Edith ! for, 
God knows, I thinkna on my ain auld life." 

“ Come, sister," said the Major, “ you must not be cast 
down. The place is strong, the rebels ignorant and ill pro- 
vided ; my brother’s house shall not be made a den of thieves 
and rebels while old Miles Bellenden is in it. My hand is 
weaker than it was, but I thank my old gray hairs that I have 
some knowledge of war yet. Here comes Pike with intelli- 
gence. What news, Pike ? Another Philiphaugh job, eh ?" 

“Ay, ay," said Pike, composedly ; “a total scattering. I 
thought this morning little gude would come of their new- 
fangled gate of slinging their carabines." 

“ Whom did you see ? Who gave you the news ? " asked 
the Major. 

“ 0, mair than half a dozen dragoon fellows that are a’ on 
the spur whilk to get first to Hamilton. They’ll win the 
race, I warrant them, win the battle wha like." 

“ Continue your preparations, Harrison," said the alert 
veteran ; “get your ammunition in, and the cattle killed. 
Send down to the borough- town for what meal you can gather. 
We must not lose an instant. Had not Edith and you, sister, 
better return to Charnwood, while we have the means of send- 
ing you there ? " 

“ No, brother," said Lady Margaret, looking very pale, 
but speaking with the greatest composure ; “since the auld 
house is to be held out, I will take my chance in it. I have 
fled twice from it in my days, and I have aye found it deso- 
late of its bravest and its bonniest when 1 returned ; sae that 
I will e’en abide now, and end my pilgrimage in it." 

“ It may, on the whole, be the safest course both for Edith 
and you," said the Major ; “ for the Whigs will rise all the way 
between this and Glasgow, and make your travelling there, or 
your dwelling at Charnwood, very unsafe." 

“ So be it, then," said Lady Margaret ; “ and, dear brother, 
as the nearest blood relation of my deceased husband, I de- 
liver to you by this symbol [here she gave into his hand the 
venerable gold-headed staff of the deceased Earl of Torwood] 
the keeping and government and seneschalship of my Tower 
of Tillietudlem, and the appurtenances thereof, with full 
power to kill, slay, and damage those who shall assail the 
same, as freely as I might do myself. And I trust you will 
so defend it as becomes a house in which his most sacred 
Majesty has not disdained ’’ 

“ Pshaw ! sister," interrupted the Major, “ we have no time 
to speak about the king and his breakfast just now," 


OLD MORTALITY 


181 


And hastily leaving the room he hurried, with all the alert- 
ness of a young man of twenty-five, to examine the state of his 
garrison, and superintend the measures which were necessary 
for defending the place. 

The Tower of Tillietudlem, having very thick walls and 
very narrow windows, having also a very strong courtyard wall, 
with flanking turrets on the only accessible side, and rising on 
the other from the very verge of a precipice, was fully capable 
of defence against anything but a train of heavy artillery. 

Famine or escalade was what the garrison had chiefly to fear. 
For artillery, the top of the Tower was mounted with some 
antiquated wall-pieces, and small cannons, which bore the old- 
fashioned names of culverins, sakers, demi-sakers, falcons, and 
falconets. These the Major, with the assistance of John 
Gudyill, caused to be scaled and loaded, and pointed them so 
as to command the road over the brow of the opposite hill, by 
which the rebels must advance, causing, at the same time, two 
or three trees to be cut down, which would have impeded the 
effect of the artillery when it should be necessary to use it. 
With the trunks of these trees, and other materials, he directed 
barricades to be constructed upon the winding avenue which 
rose to the Tower along the high-road, taking care that each 
should command the other. The large gate of the courtyard 
he barricaded yet more strongly, leaving only a wicket open 
for the convenience of passage. What he had most to appre- 
hend was the slenderness of his garrison ; for all the efforts of 
the steward were unable to get more than nine men under arms, 
himself and Gudyill included, so much more popular was the 
cause of the insurgents than that of the government. Major 
Bellenden and his trusty servant Pike made the garrison 
eleven in number, of whom one-half were old men. The round 
dozen might indeed have been made up, would Lady Margaret 
have consented that Goose Gibbie should again take up arms. 
But she recoiled from the proposal, when moved by Gudyill, 
with such abhorrent recollection of the former achievements of 
that luckless cavalier that she declared she would rather the 
Castle were lost than that he were to be enrolled in the defence 
of it. With eleven men, however, himself included, Major 
Bellenden determined to hold out the place to the uttermost. 

The arrangements for defence were not made without the 
degree of fracas incidental to such occasions. Women shrieked, 
cattle bellowed, dogs howled, men ran to and fro, cursing and 
swearing without intermission ; the lumbering of the old guns 
backwards and forwards shook the battlements, the courts 
yesounded with the hasty gallop of messengers who went and 


m 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


returned upon errands of importance, and the din of warlike 
preparation was mingled with the sound of female laments. 

Such a Babel of discord might have awakened the slum- 
bers of the very dead, and, therefore, was not long ere it dis- 
pelled the abstracted reveries of Edith Bellenden. She sent 
out Jenny to bring her the cause of the tumult which shook 
the Castle to its very basis ; but Jenny, once engaged in the 
bustling tide, found so much to ask and to hear that she for- 
got the state of anxious uncertainty in which she had left 
her young mistress. Having no pigeon to dismiss in pursuit 
of information when her raven messenger had failed to return 
with it, Edith was compelled to venture in quest of it out of 
the ark of her own chamber into the deluge of confusion which 
overflowed the rest of the Castle. Six voices speaking at 
once informed her, in reply to her first inquiry, that Claver’se 
and all his men were killed, and that ten thousand Whigs 
were marching to besiege the Castle, headed by John Balfour 
of Burley, young Milnwood, and Cuddie Headrigg. This 
strange association of persons seemed to infer the falsehood 
of the whole story, and yet the general bustle in the Castle 
intimated that danger was certainly apprehended. 

“ Where is Lady Margaret ?” was EditlTs second ques- 
tion. 

“ In her oratory,” was the reply — a cell adjoining to the 
chapel, in which the good old lady was wont to spend the 
greater part of the days destined by the rules of the Episco- 
pal Church to devotional observances, as also the anniversa- 
ries of those on which she had lost her husband and her chil- 
dren, and, finally, those hours in which a deeper and more 
solemn address to Heaven was called for by national or domes- 
tic calamity. 

“ Where, then,” said Edith, much alarmed, “ is Major 
Bellenden ?” 

“ On the battlements of the Tower, madam, pointing 
the cannon,” was the reply. 

To the battlements, therefore, she made her way, impeded 
by a thousand obstacles, and found the old gentleman in the 
midst of his natural military element, commanding, rebuking, 
encouraging, instructing, and exercising all the numerous 
duties of a good governor. 

“In the name of God, what is the matter, uncle ?” ex- 
claimed Edith. 

“The matter, rny love !” answered the Major, coolly, as, 
with spectacles on his nose, he examined the position of a gun. 
v The matter ! Why — raise her breech a thought more, John 


OLD MORTALITY 


188 


Gudyill — the matter ! Why, Claver’se is routed, my dear, and 
the Whigs are coming down upon us in force, that’s all the 
matter.” 

“ Gracious powers !” said Edith, whose eye at that instant 
caught a glance of the road which ran up the river, “and 
yonder they come ! ” 

“ Yonder ! where?” said the veteran ; and, his eyes tak- 
ing the same direction, he beheld a large body of horsemen 
coming down the path. “ Stand to your guns, my lads!” 
was the first exclamation ; “ we’ll make them pay toll as they 
pass the heugh. But stay, stav, these are certainly the Life 
Guards.” 

“ 0 no, uncle, no,” replied Edith ; “ see how disorderly 
they ride, and how ill they keep their ranks; these cannot be 
the fine soldiers who left us this morning.” 

“ Ah, my dear girl !” answered the Major, “you do not 
know the difference between men before a battle and after a 
defeat ; but the Life Guards it is, for I see the red and blue 
and the king’s colors. I am glad they have brought them off, 
however.” 

His opinion was confirmed as the troopers approached 
nearer, and finally halted on the road beneath the Tower ; 
while their commanding officer, leaving them to breathe and 
refresh their horses, hastily rode up the hill. 

“It is Claverhouse, sure enough,” said the Major; “I am 
glad he has escaped, but he has lost his famous black horse. 
Let Lady Margaret know, John Gudyill ; order some refresh- 
ments ; get oats for the soldiers’ horses ; and let us to the 
hall, Edith, to meet him. I surmise we shall hear but in- 
different news.” 


CHAPTER XX 


With careless gesture, mind unmoved. 

On rade he north the plain, 

His seem in thrang of fiercest strife, 

When winner aye the same. 

Hardyknute. 

Colonel GrahameoI: Claverhouse met the family, assembled 
in the hall of the Tower, with the same serenity and the same 
courtesy which had graced his manners in the morning. He 
had even had the composure to rectify in part the derangement 
of his dress, to wash the signs of battle from his face and 
hands, and did not appear more disordered in his exterior 
than if returned from a morning ride. 

“I am grieved, Colonel Grahame,” said the reverend old 
lady, the tears trickling down her face — “ deeply grieved.” 

“And I am grieved, my dear Lady Margaret,” replied 
Claverhouse, “that this misfortune may render your re- 
maining at Tillietudlem dangerous for you, especially consid- 
ering your recent hospitality to the king’s troops, and your 
well-known loyalty. And I came here chiefly to request Miss 
Bellenden and you to accept my escort — if you will not scorn 
that of a poor runaway — to Glasgow, from whence I will see 
you safely sent either to Edinburgh or to Dumbarton Castle, 
as you shall think best.” 

“ I am much obliged to you, Colonel Grahame,” replied 
Lady Margaret ; “ but my brother, Major Bellenden, has 
taken on him the responsibility of holding out this house 
against the rebels ; and, please God, they shall never drive 
Margaret Bellenden from her ain hearth-stane while there’s 
a brave man that says he can defend it.” 

“ And will Major Bellenden u ndertake this ?” said Claver- 
house, hastily, a joyful light glancing from his dark eye as he 
turned it on the veteran. “Yet why should I question it ? 
it is of a piece with the rest of his life. But have you the 
means, Major ? ” 

“ All but men and provisions, with which we are ill sup- 
plied,” answered the Major. 


184 


OLD MORTALITY 


185 


“ As for men/’ said Claverhouse, I will leave you a dozen 
or twenty fellows who will make good a breach against the 
devil. It will be of the utmost service if you can defend the 
place but a week, and by that time you must surely be re- 
lieved.” 

‘‘ I will make it good for that space, Colonel/’ replied the 
Major, “ with twenty-five good men and store of ammunition, 
if we should gnaw the soles of our shoes for hunger ; but I 
trust we shall get in provisions from the country.” 

C£ And, Colonel Grahame, if I might presume a request,” 
said Lady Margaret, “ I would entreat that Sergeant Francis 
Stewart might command the auxiliaries whom you are so good 
as to add to the garrison of our people ; it may serve to legiti- 
mate his promotion, and I have a prejudice in favor of his 
noble birth.” 

“The sergeant’s wars are ended, madam,” said Grahame, 
in an unaltered tone, “and he now needs no promotion that 
an earthly master can give.” 

“ Pardon me,” said Major Bellenden, taking Claverhouse 
by the arm, and turning him away from the ladies, “ but I 
am anxious for my friends ; I fear you have other and more 
important loss. I observe another officer carries your nephew’s 
standard.” 

“ You are right. Major Bellenden,” answered Claverhouse, 
firmly; “my nephew is no more. He has died, in his duty, 
as became him.” 

“ Great God ! ” exclaimed the Major, “ how unhappy ! 
The handsome, gallant, high-spirited youth ! ” 

“He was indeed all you say,” answered Claverhouse; 
“ poor Richard tvas to me as an eldest son, the apple of my 
eye, and my destined heir ; but he died in his duty, and I — I 
— Major Bellenden [he wrung the Major’s hand hard as he 
spoke], I live to avenge him.” 

“Colonel Grahame,” said the affectionate veteran, his eyes 
filling with tears, “ I am glad to see you bear this misfortune 
with such fortitude.” 

“I am not a selfish man,” replied Claverhouse, “though 
the world will tell you otherwise — I am not selfish either in 
my hopes or fears, my joys or sorrows, I have not been severe 
for myself, or grasping for myself, or ambitious for myself. 
The service of my master and the good of the country are 
what I have tried to aim at. I may, perhaps, have driven 
severity into cruelty, but I acted for the best ; and now I will 
not yield to my own feelings a deeper sympathy than I have 
given to those of others.” 


18G 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


“ I am astonished at your fortitude under all the unpleas- 
ant circumstances of this affair,” pursued the Major. 

“ Yes,” replied Claverhouse, “ my enemies in the council 
will lay this misfortune to my charge ; I despise their accusa- 
tions. They will calumniate me to my sovereign ; I can repel 
their charge. The public enemy will exult in my flight; I 
shall find a time to show them that they exult too early. This 
youth that has fallen stood betwixt a grasping kinsman and 
my inheritance, for you know that my marriage-bed is barren ; 
yet, peace be with him ! the country can better spare him 
than your friend Lord Evandale, who, after behaving very 
gallantly, has, I fear, also fallen.” 

“ What a fatal day ! ” ejaculated the Major. “ I heard a 
report of this, but it was again contradicted ; it was added 
that the poor young nobleman's impetuosity had occasioned 
the loss of this unhappy field.” 

“Not so. Major,” said Grahame ; “let the living officers 
bear the blame, if there be any ; and let the laurels flourish 
untarnished on the grave of the fallen. I do not, however, 
speak of Lord Evandale's death as certain ; but killed or 
prisoner I fear he must be. Yet he was extricated from the 
tumult the last time we spoke together. We were then on the 
point of leaving the field with a rear-guard of scarce twenty 
men ; the rest of the regiment were almost dispersed.” 

“They have rallied again soon,” said the Major, looking 
fro n the window on the dragoons, who were feeding their 
horses and refreshing themselves beside the brook. 

“ Yes,” answered Claverhouse, “ my blackguards had little 
temptation either to desert or to straggle farther than they 
were driven by their first panic. There is small friendship 
and scant courtesy between them and the boors of this country ; 
every village they pass is likely to rise on them, and so the 
scoundrels are driven back to their colors by a wholesome 
terror of spits, pike-staves, hay-forks, and broomsticks. But 
now let us talk about your plans and wants, and the means of 
corresponding with you. To tell you the truth, I doubt being 
able to make a long stand at Glasgow, even when I have joined 
my Lord Ross ; for this transient and accidental success of the 
fanatics will raise the devil through all the western counties.” 

They then discussed Major Bellenden's means of defence, 
and settled a plan of correspondence, in case a general insur- 
rection took place, as was to be expected. Claverhouse re- 
newed his offer to escort the ladies to a place of safety ; but, 
all things considered, Major Bellenden thought they would be 
in equal safety at Tillietudlem 


OLD MORTALITY 


18 * 


The Colonel then took a polite leave of Lady Margaret and 
Miss Bellenden, assuring them that though he was reluctantly 
obliged to leave them for the present in dangerous circum- 
stances, yet his earliest means should be turned to the redemp- 
tion of his character as a good knight and true, and that they 
might speedily rely on hearing from or seeing him. 

Full of doubt and apprehension. Lady Margaret was little 
able to reply to a speech so much in unison with her usual 
expressions and feelings, but contented herself with bid- 
ding Claverhouse farewell, and thanking him for the succors 
which he had promised to leave them. Edith longed to in- 
quire the fate of Henry Morton, but could find no pretext for do- 
ing so, and could only hope that it had made a subject of some 
part of the long private communication which her uncle had 
held with Claverhouse. On this subject, however, she was 
disappointed ; for the old Cavalier was so deeply immersed in 
the duties of his own office that he had scarce said a single 
word to Claverhouse, excepting upon military matters, and 
most probably would have been equally forgetful had the fate 
of his own son, instead of his friend's,, lain in the balance. 

Claverhouse now descended the bank on which the Castle 
is founded, in order to put his troops again in motion, and 
Major Bellenden accompanied him to receive the detachment 
who were to be left in the tower. 

“ I shall leave Inglis with you," said Claverhouse, “ for, 
as I am situated, I cannot spare an officer of rank ; it is all 
we can do, by our joint efforts, to keep the men together. 
But should any of our missing officers make their appearance 
I authorize you to detain them ; for my fellows can with diffi- 
culty be subjected to any other authority." 

£[is troops being now drawn up, he picked out sixteen 
men by name, and committed them to the command of Cor- 
poral Inglis, whom he promoted to the rank of sergeant on 
the spot. 

“ And hark ye, gentlemen," was his concluding harangue, 
“ I leave you to defend the house of a lady, and under the 
command of her brother. Major Bellenden, a faithful servant 
to the king. You are to behave bravely, soberly, regularly, 
and obediently, and each of you shall be handsomely rewarded 
on my return to relieve the garrison. In case of mutiny, cow- 
ardice, neglect of duty, or the slightest excess in the family, 
the provost-marshal and cord ; you know I keep my word for 
good and evil." 

He touched his hat as he bade them farewell, and shook 
hands cordially with Major Bellenden. 


188 . WAVERLEY NOVELS 

“ Adieu,” he said, “ my stout-hearted old friend ! Good 
luck be with you, and better times to us both.” 

The horsemen whom he commanded had been once more 
reduced to tolerable order by the exertions of Major Allan ; 
and, though shorn of their splendor, and with their gilding 
all besmirched, made a much more regular and military ap- 
pearance on leaving, for the second time, the Tower of Tillie- 
tudlem than when they returned to it after their rout. 

Major Bellenden, now left to his own resources, sent out 
several videttes, both to obtain supplies of provisions, and 
especially of meal, and to get knowledge of the motions of the 
enemy. All the news he could collect on the second subject 
tended to prove that the insurgents meant to remain on the 
field of battle for that night. But they also had abroad their 
detachments and advanced guards to collect supplies, and 
great was the doubt and distress of those who received con- 
trary orders, in the name of the king and in that of the kirk ; 
the one commanding them to send provisions to victual the 
Castle of Tillietudlem, and the other enjoining them to for- 
ward supplies to the camp of the godly professors of true 
religion, now in arms for the cause of covenanted reformation, 
presently pitched at Drumclog, nigh to Loudon Hill. Each 
summons closed with a denunciation of fire and sword if it 
was neglected ; for neither party could confide so far in the 
loyalty or zeal of those whom they addressed as to hope they 
would part with their property upon other terms. So that 
the poor people knew not what hand to turn themselves to ; 
and, to say truth, there were some who turned themselves to 
more than one. 

“Thir kittle times will drive the wisest o’ us daft,” said 
Kiel Blane, the prudent host of the Howff ; “ but I’se aye 
keep a calm sough. Jenny, what meal is in the girnel ?” 

“ Four bows o' aitmeal, twa bows o’ bear, and twa bows o ’ 
pease,” was Jenny’s reply. 

“Aweel, hinny,” continued Kiel Blane, sighing deeply, 
“ let Bauldy drive the pease and bear meal to the camp at 
Drumclog ; he’s a Whig, and was the auld gudewife’s pleugh- 
man ; the mashlum bannocks will suit their muirland stamachs 
weel. He maun say it’s the last unce o’ meal in the house, 
or, if he scruples to tell a lie — as it’s no likely he will when 
it’s for the gude o’ the house — he may wait till Duncan Glen, 
the auld drucken trooper, drives up the aitmeal to Tillietud- 
lem, wi’ my dutifu’ service to my Leddy and the Major, and 
I haena as muckle left as will mak my parritch ; and if Dun- 


old Mortality i 8 dD 

can manage right, Pll gie him a tass o’ whiskey shall mak the 
blue low come out at his mouth.” 

“ And what are we to eat oursells, then, father,” asked 
Jenny, “ when we hae sent awa' the haill meal in the ark and 
the girnel ? ” 

“ We maun gar wheat-flour serve us for a blink,” said Niel, 
in a tone of resignation; “it's no that ill food, though far 
frae being sae hearty or kindly to a Scotchman's stamach as 
the curney aitmeal is. The Englishers live amaist upon't ; 
but to be sure, the pock-puddings ken nae better.” 

While the prudent and peaceful endeavored, like Neil 
Blane, to make fair weather with both parties, those who had 
more public (or party) spirit began to take arms on all sides. 
The Royalists in the country were not numerous, but were re- 
spectable from their fortune and influence, being chiefly landed 
proprietors of ancient descent, who, with their brothers, 
cousins, and dependants to the ninth generation, as well as 
their domestic servants, formed a sort of militia capable of 
defending their own peel-houses against detached bodies of 
the insurgents, of resisting their demand of supplies, and in- 
tercepting those which were sent to the Presbyterian camp 
by others. The news that the Tower of Tillietudlem was to 
be defended against the insurgents afforded great courage 
and support to these feudal volunteers, who considered it as 
a stronghold to which they might retreat, in case it should 
become impossible for them to maintain the desultory'’ war 
they were now about to wage. 

On the other hand, the towns, the villages, the farm- 
houses, the properties of the small heritors, sent forth nu- 
merous recruits to the Presbyterian interest. These men had 
been the principal sufferers during the oppression of the time. 
Their minds were fretted, soured, and driven to desperation 
by the various exactions and cruelties to which they had been 
subjected ; and although by no means united among them- 
selves either concerning the purpose of this formidable in- 
surrection, or the means by which that purpose was to be 
obtained, most of them considered it as a door opened by 
Providence to obtain the liberty of conscience of which they 
had been long deprived, and to shake themselves free of a 
tyranny directed both against body and soul. Numbers of 
these men, therefore, took up arms ; and, in the phrase of 
their time and party, prepared to cast in their lot with the 
victors of Loudon Hill. 


CHAPTER XXI 


Ananias. I do not like the man. He is a heathen, 

And speaks the language of Canaan truly. 

Tribulation. You must await his calling, and the coming 
Of the good spirit. You did ill to upbraid him. 

The Alchemist. 

W e return to Henry Morton, whom we left on the field of battle. 
He was eating by one of the watch-fires his portion of the pro- 
visions which had been distributed to the army, and musing 
deeply on the path which he was next to pursue, when Burley 
suddenly came up to him, accompanied by the young minister, 
whose exhortation after the victory had produced such a power- 
ful effect. 

“ Henry Morton," said Balfour, abruptly, “ the council of 
the army of the Covenant, confiding that the son of Silas Mor- 
ton can never prove a lukewarm Laodicean, or an indifferent 
G-allio in this great day, have nominated you to be a captain 
of their host, with the right of a vote in their council, and 
ail authority fitting for an officer who is to command Chris- 
tian men." 

“Mr. Balfour," replied Morton, without hesitation, “I feel 
this mark of confidence, and it is not surprising that a natural 
sense of the injuries of my country, not to mention those I 
have sustained in my own person, should make me sufficiently 
willing to draw my sword for liberty and freedom of conscience. 
But I will own to you, that I must be better satisfied concern- 
ing the principles on which you bottom your cause ere I can 
agree to take a command among you." 

“ And can you doubt of our principles," answered Burley, 
“since we have stated them to be the reformation both of 
church and state, the rebuilding of the decayed sanctuary, the 
gathering of the dispersed saints, and the destruction of the 
man of sin ? " 

“I will own frankly, Mr. Balfour," replied Morton, “much 
of this sort of language, which I observe is so powerful with 
others, is entirely lost on me. It is proper you should be aware 
of this before we commune further together." The young 
clergyman here groaned deeply. “ I distress you, sir," said 

m 


OLD MORTALITY 


m 

Morton; “ but perhaps it is because you will not hear me out 
I revere the Scriptures as deeply as you or any Christian can 
do. I look into them with humble hope of extracting a rule 
of conduct and a law of salvation. But I expect to find this 
by an examination of their general tenor, and of the spirit 
which they uniformly breathe, and not by wresting particular 
passages from their context, or by the application of Scriptu- 
ral phrases to circumstances and events with which they have 
often very slender relation.” 

The young divine seemed shocked and thunderstruck with 
this declaration, and was about to remonstrate. 

“ Hush, Ephraim ! ” said Burley, “ remember he is but as 
a babe in swaddling-clothes. Listen to me, Morton. I will 
speak to the ) in the worldly language of that carnal reason 
which is for the present thy blind and imperfect guide. What 
is the object for which thou art content to draw thy sword ? 
Is it not that the church and state should be reformed by the 
free voice of a free parliament, with such laws as shall here- 
after prevent the executive government from spilling the 
blood, torturing and imprisoning the persons, exhausting the 
estates, and trampling upon the consciences of men at their 
own wicked pleasure ? ” 

“ Most certainly,” said Morton ; “ such I esteem legitimate 
causes of warfare, and for such I will fight while I can wield 
a sword.” 

“ Nay, but,” said Macbriar, “ye handle this matter too 
tenderly ; nor will my conscience permit me to fard or daub 
over the causes of divine wrath ” 

“ Peace, Ephraim Macbriar ! ” again interrupted Burley. 

“I will not peace,” said the young man. “ Is it not the 
cause of my Master who hath sent me ? Is it not a profane 
and Erastian destroying of His authority, usurpation of His 
power, denial of His name, to place either King or Parlia- 
ment in His place as the master and governor of His house- 
hold, the adulterous husband of His spouse ?” 

“You speak well,” said Burley, dragging him aside, “but 
not wisely ; your own ears have heard this night in council 
how this scattered remnant are broken and divided, and would 
ye now make a veil of separation between them ? Would ye 
build a wall with unslaked mortar ? If a fox go up, it will 
breach it.” 

“ I know,” said the young clergyman, in reply, “ that thou 
art faithful, honest, and zealous, even unto slaying ; but, be- 
lieve me, this worldly craft, this temporizing with sin and with 
infirmity, is in itself a falling away ; and I fear me Heaven 


192 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


will not honor us to do much more for His glory, when we 
seek to carnal cunning and to a fleshly arm. The sanctified 
end must be wrought by sanctified means.” 

“ I tell thee,” answered Balfour, “thy zeal is too rigid in 
this matter ; we cannot yet do without the help of the Lao- 
diceans and the Erastians ; we must endure for a space the 
indulged in the midst of the council ; the sons of Zeruiah 
are vet too strong for us.” 

“I tell thee I like it not,” said Macbriar ; “ God can work 
deliverance by a few as well as by a multitude. The host of 
the faithful that Avas broken upon Pentland Hills paid but 
the fitting penalty of acknowledging the carnal interest of 
that tyrant and oppressor, Charles Stewart.” 

“ Well, then,” said Balfour, “thou knowest the healing 
resolution that the council have adopted — to make a compre- 
hending declaration that may suit the tender consciences of 
all avIio groan under the yoke of our present oppressors. 
Return to the council if thou wilt, and get them to recall it, 
and send forth one upon narrower grounds ; but abide not here 
to hinder my gaining over this youth, Avhom my soul travails 
for ; his name alone will call forth hundreds to our banners.” 

“ Do as thou wilt, then,” said Macbriar.; “ but I will not 
assist to mislead the youth, nor bring him into jeopardy of life, 
unless upon such grounds as will insure his eternal reward.” 

The more artful Balfour then dismissed the impatient 
preacher and returned to his proselyte. 

That Ave may be enabled to dispense with detailing at 
length the arguments by which he urged Morton to join the 
insurgents, Ave shall take this opportunity to give a brief sketch 
of the person by Avhom they Avere used, and the motives which 
he had for interesting himself so deeply in the conversion of 
young Morton to his cause. 

John Balfour of Kinloch, or Burley, for he is designated 
both Avays in the histories and proclamations of that melan- 
choly period, Avas a gentleman of some fortune, and of good 
family, in the county of Fife, and had been a soldier from 
his youth upAvards. In the younger part of his life he had 
been Avild and licentious, but had early laid aside open profli- 
gacy and embraced the strictest tenets of Calvinism. Un- 
fortunately, habits of excess and intemperance Avere more 
easily rooted out of his dark, saturnine, and enterprising 
spirit than the vices of revenge and ambition, which continued, 
notwithstanding his religious professions, to exercise no small 
sway over his mind. Daring in design, precipitate and vio- 
lent in execution, and going to the very extremity of the 


OLD MORTALITY 


193 


most rigid recusancy, it was his ambition to place himself at 
the head of the Presbyterian interest. 

To attain this eminence among the Whigs, he had been 
active in attending their conventicles, and more than once 
had commanded them when they appeared in arms, and 
beaten olf the forces sent to disperse them. At length the 
gratification of his own fierce enthusiasm, joined, as some say, 
with motives of private revenge, placed him at the head of 
that party who assassinated the Primate of Scotland as the 
author of the sufferings of the Presbyterians. The violent 
measures adopted by government to revenge this deed, not 
on the perpetrators only, but on the whole professors of the 
religion to which they belonged, together with long previous 
sufferings without any prospect of deliverance, except by 
force of arms, occasioned the insurrection which, as we have 
already seen, commenced by the defeat of Claverhouse in the 
bloody skirmish of Loudon Hill. 

But Burley, notwithstanding the share he had in the vic- 
tory, was far from finding himself at the summit which his 
ambition aimed at. This was partly owing to the various 
opinions entertained among the insurgents concerning the 
murder of Archbishop Sharp. The more violent among 
them did indeed approve of this act as a deed of justice ex- 
ecuted upon a persecutor of God’s church through the im- 
mediate inspiration of the Deity ; but the greater part of the 
Presbyterians disowned the deed as a crime highly culpable, 
although they admitted that the Archbishop’s punishment 
had by no means exceeded his deserts. The insurgents dif- 
fered in another main point, which has been already touched 
upon. The more warm and extravagant fanatics condemned, 
as guilty of a pusillanimous abandonment of the rights of the 
church, those preachers and congregations who were con- 
tented, in any manner, to exercise their religion through the 
permission of the ruling government. This, they said, was 
absolute Erastianism, or subjection of the church of God 
to the regulations of an earthly government, and therefore 
but one degree better than Prelacy or Popery. Again, the 
more moderate party were content to allow the king’s title 
to the throne, and in secular affairs to acknowledge his 
authority, so long as it was exercised with due regard to the 
liberties of the subject, and in conformity to the laws of the 
realm. But the tenets of the wilder sect, called, from their 
leader, Richard Cameron, by the name of Cameronians, went 
the length of disowning the reigning monarch, and every one 
of his successors who should not acknowledge the Solemn 


194 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


League and Covenant. The seeds of disunion were therefore 
thickly sown in this ill-fated party ; and Balfour, however 
enthusiastic, and however much attached to the most violent 
of those tenets which we have noticed, saw nothing but ruin 
to the general cause if they were insisted on during this 
crisis, when unity was of so much consequence. Hence he 
disapproved, as we have seen, of the honest, downright, and 
ardent zeal of Macbriar, and was extremely desirous to re- 
ceive the assistance of the moderate party of Presbyterians in 
the immediate overthrow of the government, with the hope 
of being hereafter able to dictate to them what should be 
substituted in its place. 

He was on this account particularly anxious to secure the 
accession of Henry Morton to the cause of the insurgents. 
The memory of his father was generally esteemed among the 
Presbyterians ; and as few persons of any decent quality had 
joined the insurgents, this young man’s family and pros- 
pects were such as almost insured his being chosen a leader. 
Through Morton’s means, as being the son of his ancient 
comrade, Burley conceived he might exercise some influence 
over the more liberal part of the army, and ultimately per- 
haps ingratiate himself so far with them as to be chosen 
commander-in-chief, which was the mark at which his ambi- 
tion aimed. He had therefore, without waiting till any other 
person took up the subject, exalted to the council the talents 
and disposition of Morton, and easily obtained his elevation 
to the painful rank of a leader in this disunited and undis- 
ciplined army. 

The arguments by which Balfour pressed Morton to accept 
of this dangerous promotion, as soon as he had gotten rid of 
his less wary and uncompromising companion, Macbriar, were 
sufficiently artful and urgent. He did not affect either to 
deny or to disguise that the sentiments which he himself en- 
tertained concerning church government went as far as those 
of the preacher who had just left them ; but he argued that 
when the affairs of the nation were at such a desperate crisis, 
minute difference of opinion should not prevent those who, 
in general, wished well to their oppressed country from draw- 
ing their swords in its behalf. Many of the subjects of divi- 
sion, as, for example, that concerning the Indulgence itself, 
arose, he observed, out of circumstances which would cease to 
exist, provided their attempt to free the country should be 
successful, seeing that the Presbytery, being in that case tri- 
umphant, would need to make no such compromise with the 
government, and, consequently, with the abolition of the In- 


OLt) MORTALITY 


ids 

diligence all discussion of its legality would be at once ended. 
He insisted much and strongly upon the necessity of taking 
advantage of this favorable crisis, upon the certainty of their 
being joined by the force of the whole western shires, and 
upon the gross guilt which those would incur who, seeing the 
distress of the country and the increasing tyranny with which 
it was governed, should, from fear or indifference, withhold 
their active aid from the good cause. 

Morton wanted not these arguments to induce him to join 
in any insurrection which might appear to have a feasible 
prospect of freedom to the country. He doubted, indeed, 
greatly whether the present attempt was likely to be sup- 
ported by the strength sufficient to insure success, or by the 
wisdom and liberality of spirit necessary to make a good use 
of the advantages that might be gained. Upon the whole, 
however, considering the wrongs he had personally endured, 
and those which he had seen daily inflicted on his fellow-sub- 
jects, meditating also upon the precarious and dangerous sit- 
uation in which he already stood with relation to the govern- 
ment, he conceived himself, in every point of view, called 
upon to join the body of Presbyterians already in arms. 

But while he expressed to Burley his acquiescence in the 
vote which had named him a leader among the insurgents, and 
a member of their council of war, it was not without a quali- 
fication. 

“ I am willing,” he said, “to contribute everything with- 
_in my limited power to effect the emancipation of my country. 
’"But do not mistake me. I disapprove, in the utmost degree, 
of the action in which this rising seems to have originated ; 
and no arguments should induce me to join it, if it is to be 
carried on by such measures as that with which it has com- 
menced.” 

Burley's blood rushed to his face, giving a ruddy and dark 
glow to his swarthy brow. 

“You mean,” he said, in a voice which he designed should 
not betray any emotion — “ you mean the death of James 
Sharp ? ” 

“Frankly,” answered Morton, “such is my meaning.” 

“ You imagine, then,” said Burley, “that the Almighty 
in times of difficulty does not raise up instruments to deliver 
His church from her oppressors ? You are of opinion that the 
justice of an execution consists, not in the extent of the suf- 
ferer's crime, or in his having merited punishment, or in the 
wholesome and salutary effect which that example is likely to 
produce upon other evil-doers, but hold that it rests solely in 


196 WAVERLEY NOVELS 

the robe of the judge, the height of the bench, and the voice 
of the doomster ? Is not just punishment justly inflicted, 
whether on the scaffold or the moor ? And where constituted 
judges, from cowardice, or from having cast in their lot with 
transgressors, suffer them not only to pass at liberty through 
the land, but to sit in the high places and dye their garments 
in the blood of the saints, is it not well done in any brave 
spirits who shall draw their private swords in the public 
cause ? ” 

“ I have no wish to judge this individual action,” replied 
Morton, “ further than is necessary to make you fully aware 
of my principles. I therefore repeat that the case you have 
supposed does not satisfy my judgment. That the Almighty, 
in His mysterious providence, may bring a bloody man to an 
end deservedly bloody does not vindicate those who, without 
authority of any kind, take upon themselves to be the instru- 
ments of execution, and presume to call them the executors 
of divine vengeance.” 

“ And were we not so ?” said Burley, in a tone of fierce 
enthusiasm. “Were not we — was not every one who owned 
the interest of the Covenanted Church of Scotland — bound 
by that covenant to cut off the Judas who had sold the cause 
of Cod for fifty thousand merks a year ? Had we met him by 
the way as he came down from London, and there smitten 
him with the edge of the sword, we had done but the duty of 
men faithful to our cause and to our oaths recorded in heaven. 
Was not the execution itself a proof of our warrant ? Did not 
the Lord deliver him into our hands when we looked out but 
for one of His inferior tools of persecution ? Did we not 
pray to he resolved how we should act, and was it not borne in 
on our hearts as if it had been written on them with the point 
of a diamond, * Ye shall surely take him and slay him ? 9 
Was not the tragedy full half an hour in acting ere the sacri- 
fice was completed, and that in an open heath, and within the 
patrols of their garrisons ; and yet who interrupted the great 
work ? What dog so much as bayed us during the pursuit, 
the taking, the slaying, and the dispersing ? Then, who will 
say — who dare say, that a mightier arm than ours was not 
herein revealed ?” 

“You deceive yourself, Mr. Balfour,” said Morton; 
“ such circumstances of facility of execution and escape have 
often attended the commission of the most enormous crimes. 
But it is not mine to judge you. I have not forgotten that 
the way was opened to the former liberation of Scotland by 
an act of violence which no man can justify— the slaughter 


OLD MORTALITY 197 

of Gumming by the hand of Robert Bruce ; and therefore 
condemning this action, as I do and must, I am not unwilling 
to suppose that you may have motives vindicating it in your 
own eyes, though not in mine or in those of sober reason. I 
only now mention it because I desire you to understand that 
I join a cause supported by men engaged in open war, which 
it is proposed to carry on according to the rules of civilized 
nations, without in any respect approving of the act of vio- 
lence which gave immediate rise to it." 

Balfour bit his lip, and with difficulty suppressed a violent 
answer. He perceived with disappointment that, upon points 
of principle, his young brother-in-arms possessed a clearness 
of judgment and a firmness of mind which afforded but little 
hope of his being able to exert that degree of influence over 
him which he had expected to possess. After a moments 
pause, however, he said, with coolness, “ My conduct is open 
to men and angels. The deed was not done in a corner ; I 
am here in arms to avow it, and care not where or by whom 
I am called on to do so, whether in the council, the field of 
battle, the place of execution, or the day of the last great 
trial. I will not now discuss it further with one who is yet 
on the other side of the veil. But if you will cast in your lot 
with us as a brother, come with me to the council, who are 
still sitting to arrange the future march of the army and the 
means of improving our victory." 

Morton arose and followed him in silence, not greatly de- 
lighted with his associate, and better satisfied with the gen- 
eral justice of the cause which he had espoused than either 
with the measures or the motives of many of those who were 
embarked in it. 


CHAPTER XXII 


And look how many Grecian tents do stand 
Hollow upon this plain — so many hollow factions. 

Troilus and Cressida. 

In a hollow of the hill, about a quarter of a mile from the field 
of battle, was a shepherd's hut — a miserable cottage, which, as 
the only enclosed spot within a moderate distance, the leaders 
of the Presbyterian army had chosen for their council-house. 
Towards, this spot Burley guided Morton, who was surprised, 
as he approached it, at the multifarious confusion of sounds 
which issued from its precincts. The calm and anxious gravity 
which it might be supposed would have presided in councils 
held on such important subjects, and at a period so critical, 
seemed to have given place to discord, wild and loud uproar P 
which fell on the ear of their new ally as an evil augury of 
their future measures. As they approached the door, they 
found it open, indeed, but choked up with the bodies and 
heads of countrymen, who, though no members of the council, 
felt no scruple in intruding themselves upon deliberations in 
which they were so deeply interested. By expostulation, by 
threats, and even by some degree of violence, Burley, the 
sternness of whose character maintained a sort of superiority 
over these disorderly forces, compelled the intruders to retire, 
and introducing Morton into the cottage, secured the door 
behind them against impertinent curiosity. At a less agitat- 
ing moment the young man might have been entertained with 
the singular scene of which he now found himself an auditor 
and a spectator. 

The precincts of the gloomy and ruinous hut were enlight- 
ened partly by some furze which blazed on the hearth, the 
smoke whereof, having no legal vent, eddied around, and 
formed over the heads of the assembled council a clouded 
canopy as opaque as their metaphysical theology, through 
which, like stars through mist, were dimly seen to twinkle a 
few blinking candles, or rather rushes dipped in tallow, the 
property of the poor owner of the cottage, which were stuck 
to the walls by patches of wet clay. This broken and dusky 


OLD MORTALITY 


199 


light showed many a countenance elated with spiritual pride* 
or rendered dark by fierce enthusiasm ; and some whose anx- 
ious, wandering, and uncertain looks showed they felt them- 
selves rashly embarked in a cause which they had neither cour- 
age nor conduct to bring to a good issue, yet knew not how to 
abandon for very shame. They were, indeed, a doubtful and 
disunited body. The most active of their number were those 
concerned with Burley in the death of the Primate, four or 
five of whom had found their way to Loudon Hill, together 
with other men of the same relentless and uncompromising 
zeal, who had in various ways given desperate and unpardon- 
able offence to the government. 

With them were mingled their preachers, men who had 
spurned at the Indulgence offered by government, and pre- 
ferred assembling their flocks in the wilderness to worship- 
ping in temples built by human hands, if their doing the 
latter should be construed to admit any right on the part of 
their rulers to interfere with the supremacy of the kirk. The 
other class of counsellors were such gentlemen of small for- 
tune, and substantial farmers, as a sense of intolerable op- 
pression had induced to take arms and join the insurgents. 
These also had their clergymen with them ; and such divines, 
having many of them taken advantage of the Indulgence, 
were prepared to resist the measures of their more violent 
brethren, who proposed a declaration in which they should 
give testimony against the warrants and instructions for in- 
dulgence as sinful and unlawful acts. This delicate question 
had been passed over in silence in the first draught of the 
manifestoes which they intended to publish of the reasons of 
their gathering in arms ; but it had been stirred anew during 
Balfour's absence, and to his great vexation he now found 
that both parties had opened upon it in full cry, Macbriar, 
Kettledrummle, and other teachers of the Wanderers being 
at the very spring-tide of polemical discussion with Peter 
Poundtext, the indulged pastor of Milnwood's parish, who, it 
seems, had e'en girded himself with a broadsword, but, ere 
he was called upon to fight for the good cause of Presbytery 
in the field, was manfully defending his own dogmata in the 
council. It was the din of this conflict,' maintained chiefly 
between Poundtext and Kettledrummle, together with the 
clamor of their adherents, which had saluted Morton's ears 
upon approaching the cottage. Indeed, as both the divines 
were men well gifted with words and lungs, and each fierce, 
ardent, and intolerant in defence of his own doctrine, prompt 
in the recollection of texts wherewith they battered each 


200 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


other without mercy, and deeply impressed with the impor- 
tance of the subject of discussion, the noise of the debate be- 
twixt them fell little short of that which might have attended 
an actual bodily conflict. 

Burley, scandalized at the disunion implied in this virulent 
strife of tongues, interposed between the disputants, and, by 
some general remarks on the unseasonableness of discord, a 
soothing address to the vanity of each party, and the exertion 
of the authority which his services in that day’s victory en- 
titled him to assume, at length succeeded in prevailing upon 
them to adjourn further discussion of the controversy. But 
although Kettledrummle and Poundtext were thus for the time 
silenced, they continued to eye each other like two dogs, who, 
having been separated by the authority of their masters while 
fighting, have retreated, each beneath the chair of his owner, 
still watching each other’s motions, and indicating, by occa- 
sional growls, by the erected bristles of the back and ears, and 
by the red glance of the eye, that their discord is unappeased, 
and that they only wait the first opportunity afforded by any 
general movement or commotion in the company to fly once 
more at each other’s throats. 

Balfour took advantage of the momentary pause to present 
to the council Mr. Henry Morton of Milnwood, as one touched 
with a sense of the evils of the times, and willing to peril goods 
and life in the precious cause for which his father, the re- 
nowned Silas Morton, had given in his time a soul-stirring 
testimony. Morton was instantly received with the right hand 
of fellowship by his ancient pastor, Poundtext, and by those 
among the insurgents who supported the more moderate prin- 
ciples. The others muttered something about Erastianism, 
and reminded each other in whispers that Silas Morton, once a 
stout and worthy servant of the Covenant, had been a backslider 
in the day when the Resolutioners had led the way in owming 
the authority of Charles Stewart, thereby making a gap whereat 
the present tyrant was afterwards brought in to the oppression 
both of kirk and country. They added, however, that on this 
great day of calling they would not refuse society with any who 
should put hand to the plough ; and so Morton was installed 
in his office of leader and counsellor, if not with the full 
approbation of his colleagues, at least without any formal or 
avowed dissent. They proceeded, 'on Burley’s motion, to di- 
vide among themselves the command of the men who had 
assembled, and whose numbers were daily increasing. In this 
partition the insurgents of Poundtext’s parish and congrega- 
tion were naturally placed under the command of Morton ; an 


OLD MORTALITY 


201 


arrangement mutually agreeable to both parties, as he was 
recommended to their confidence as well by his personal quali- 
ties as his having been born among them. 

When this task was accomplished, it became necessary to 
determine what use was to be made of their victory. Morton’s 
heart throbbed high when he heard the Tower of Tillietudlem 
named as one of the most important positions to be seized upon. 
It commanded, as we have often noticed, the pass between the 
more wild and the more fertile country, and must furnish, it 
was plausibly urged, a stronghold and place of rendezvous to 
the Cavaliers and Malignants of the district, supposing the in- 
surgents were to march onward and leave it uninvested. This 
measure was particularly urged as necessary by Poundtext 
and those of his immediate followers whose habitations and 
families might be exposed to great severities if this strong 
place were permitted to remain in possession of the Royal- 
ists. 

“ I opine,” said Poundtext, for, like the other divines of 
the period, he had no hesitation in offering his advice upon 
military matters, of which he was profoundly ignorant — “ I 
opine that we should take in and raze that stronghold of the 
woman Lady Margaret Bellenden, even though we should 
build a fort and raise a mount against it ; for the race is a re- 
bellious and a bloody race, and their hand has been heavy on 
the children of the Covenant, both in the former and the lat- 
ter times. Their hook hath been in our noses, and their bri- 
dle betwixt our jaws.” 

“ What are their means and men of defence ? ” said Bur- 
ley. “ The place is strong ; but I cannot conceive that two 
women can make it good against a host.” 

“ There is also,” said Poundtext, “ Harrison the steward, 
and John Gudyill, even the lady’s chief butler, who boasteth 
himself a man of war from his youth upward, and who spread 
the banner against the good cause with that man of Belial, 
James Grahame of Montrose.” 

“ Pshaw !” returned Burley, scornfully, “a butler !” 

“ Also-, there is that ancient Malignant,” replied Pound- 
text, “ Miles Bellenden of Charnwood, whose hands have been 
dipped in the blood of the saints.” 

“ If ‘that,” said Burley, “ be Miles Bellenden, the brother 
of Sir Arthur, he is one whose sword will not turn back from 
battle ; but he must now be stricken in years.” 

“There was word in the country as I rode along,” said 
another of the council, “ that so soon as they heard of the 
victory which has been given to us, they caused shut the gates 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


m 

of the Tower, and called in men, and collected ammunition. 
They were ever a fierce and a malignant house.” 

“ We will not, with my consent,” said Burley, “ engage 
in a siege which may consume time. We must rush forward 
and follow our advantage by occupying Glasgow ; fori do not 
fear that the troops we have this day beaten, even with the 
assistance of my Lord Ross’s regiment, will judge it safe to 
await our coming.” 

“ Howbeit,” said Poundtext, “we may display a banner 
before the Tower, and blow a trumpet and summon them to 
come forth. It may be that they will give over the place 
into our mercy though they be a rebellious people. And we 
will summon the women to come forth of their stronghold — 
that is. Lady Margaret Bellenden and her granddaughter, 
and Jenny Dennison, which is a girl of an ensnaring eye, 
and the other maids, and we will give them a safe-conduct, 
and send them in peace to the city, even to the town of Edin- 
burgh. But John Gudyill, and Hugh Harrison, and Miles 
Bellenden, we will restrain with fetters of iron, even as they 
in times by-past have done to the martyred saints.” 

“ Who talks of safe-conduct and of peace ? ” said a shrill, 
broken, and overstrained voice from the crowd. 

“ Peace, brother Habakkuk,” said Macbriar, in a soothing 
tone to the speaker. 

“ I will not hold my peace,” reiterated the strange and 
unnatural voice ; “ is this a time to speak of peace, when the 
earth quakes, and the mountains are rent, and the rivers are 
changed into blood, and the two-edged sword is drawn from 
the sheath to drink gore as if it were water, and devour flesh 
as the fire devours dry stubble ? ” 

While he spoke thus, the orator struggled forward to the 
inner part of the circle, and presented to Morton’s wondering 
eyes a figure worthy of such a voice and such language. The 
rags of a dress which had once been black, added to the tat- 
tered fragments of a shepherd’s plaid, composed a covering 
scarce fit for the purposes of decency, much less for those of 
warmth or comfort. A long beard, as white as snow, hung 
down on his breast, and mingled with bushy, uncombed, 
grizzled hair, which hung in elf-locks around his wild and 
staring visage. The features seemed to be extenuated by 
penury and famine, until they hardly retained the likeness of 
a human aspect. The eyes, gray, wild, and wandering, evi- 
dently betokened a bewildered imagination. He held in his 
hand a rusty sword, clotted with blood, as were his long lean 


OLD MORTALITY 


hands, which were garnished at the extremity with nails like 
eagle’s claws. 

“ In the name of Heaven ! who is he ? ” said Morton, in a 
whisper to Poundtext, surprised, shocked, and even startled 
at this ghastly apparition, which looked more like the resur- 
rection of some cannibal priest, or Druid red from his human 
sacrifice, than like an earthly mortal. 

“ It is Habakkuk Mucklewrath,” answered Poundtext, in 
the same tone, “ whom the enemy have long detained in cap- 
tivity in forts and castles, until his understanding hath de- 
parted from him, and, as I fear, an evil demon hath possessed 
him. Nevertheless, our violent brethren will have it that he 
speaketh of the spirit, and that they fructify by his pouring 
forth.” 

Here he was interrupted by Mucklewrath, who cried in a 
voice that made the very beams of the roof quiver — “ Who 
talks of peace and safe-conduct ? who speaks of mercy to the 
bloody house of the Malignants ? I say take the infants and 
dash them against the stones ; take the daughters and the 
mothers of the house and hurl them from the battlements of 
their trust, that the dogs may fatten on their blood as they 
did on that of Jezabel, the spouse of Ahab, and that their 
carcasses may be dung to the face of the field even in the por- 
tion of their fathers ! ” 

“ He speaks right,” said more than one sullen voice from 
behind ; “we will be honored with little service in the great 
cause if we already make fair weather with Heaven’s enemies.” 

“ This is utter abomination and daring impiety,” said 
Morton, unable to contain his indignation. “ What blessing 
can you expect in a cause in which you listen to the mingled 
ravings of madness and atrocity ? ” 

“ Hush, young man ! ” said Kettledrummle, “ and reserve 
thy censure for that for which thou canst render a reason. 
It is not for thee to judge into what vessels the spirit may be 
poured.” 

“We judge of the tree by the fruit,” said Poundtext, 
“and allow not that to be of divine inspiration that contra- 
dicts the divine laws.” 

“You forget, brother Poundtext,” said Macbriar, “ that 
these are the latter days when signs and wonders shall be 
multiplied.” 

Poundtext stood forward to reply ; but ere he could ar- 
ticulate a word, the insane preacher broke in with a scream 
that drowned all competition. “Who talks of signs and 
wonders Am not I Habakkuk Mucklewrath, whose name is 


204 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


changed to Magor-Missabib, because I am made a terror unto 
myself and unto all that are around me ? I heard it. When 
did I hear it ? Was it not in the Tower of the Bass, that 
overhangeth the wide wild sea ? And it howled in the winds, 
and it roared in the billows, and it screamed, and it whistled, 
and it clanged, with the screams and the clang and the whis- 
tle of the sea-birds, as they floated, and flew, and dropped, 
and dived, on the bosom of the waters. I saw it. Where 
did I see it ? Was it not from the high peaks of Dunbarton, 
when I looked westward upon the fertile land, and northward 
on the wild Highland hills ; when the clouds gathered and 
the tempest came, and the lightnings of heaven flashed in 
sheets as wide as the banners of an host ? What did I see ? 
Dead corpses and wounded horses, the rushing together of 
battle, and garments rolled in blood. What heard I ? The 
voice that cried, * Slay, slay, smite, slay utterly, let not your 
eye have pity ! slay utterly, old and young, the maiden, the 
child, and the woman whose head is gray. Defile the house 
and fill the courts with the slain ! 9 ” 

“ We receive the command,” exclaimed more than one of 
the company. “ Six days he hath not spoken nor broken 
bread, and now his tongue is unloosed. We receive the com- 
mand ; as he hath said, so will we do. ” 

Astonished, disgusted, and horror-struck at what he had 
seen and heard, Morton turned away from the circle and left 
the cottage. He was followed by Burley, who had his eye 
on his motions. 

“ Whither are you going ? ” said the latter, taking him 
by the arm. 

“ Anywhere, I care not whither ; but here I will abide no 
longer.” 

“ Art thou so soon weary, young man ? 99 answered Burley. 
“ Thy hand is but now put to the plough, and wouldst thou 
already abandon it ? Is this thy adherence to the cause of 
thy father ?" 

“No cause,” replied Morton, indignantly — “no cause can 
prosper so conducted. One party declares for the ravings of 
a bloodthirsty madman ; another leader is an old scholastic 
pedant ; a third ” — he stopped, and his companion continued 
the sentence — “ Is a desperate homicide, thou wouldst say, 
like John Balfour of Burley ? I can bear thy misconstruction 
without resentment. Thou dost not consider that it is not 
men of sober and self-seeking minds who arise in these days 
of wrath, to execute judgment and to accomplish deliverance. 
Hadst thou but seen the armies of England during her Parlhp 


OLD MORTALITY 


205 


ment of 1640, whose ranks were filled with sectaries and enthu- 
siasts wilder than the Anabaptists of Munster, thou wouldst 
have had more cause to marvel ; and yet these men were un- 
conquered on the field, and their hands wrought marvellous 
things for the liberties of the land.” 

“But their affairs,” replied Morton, “were wisely con- 
ducted, and the violence of their zeal expended itself in their 
exhortations and sermons, without bringing divisions into 
their counsels, or cruelty into their conduct. I have often 
heard my father say so, and protest that he wondered at nothing 
so much as the contrast between the extravagance of their relig- 
ious tenets and the wisdom and moderation with which they 
Conducted their civil and military affairs. But our councils 
seem all one wild chaos of confusion.” 

“Thou must have patience, Henry Morton,” answered 
Balfour ; “thou must not leave the cause of thy religion and 
country either for one wild word or one extravagant action. 
Hear me. I have already persuaded the wiser of our friends 
that the counsellors are too numerous, and that we cannot ex- 
pect that the Midianites shall, by so large a number, be deliv- 
ered into our hands. They have hearkened to my voice, and 
our assemblies will be shortly reduced within such a number 
as can consult and act together ; and in them thou shalthave 
a free voice, as well as In ordering our affairs of war and pro- 
tecting those to whom mercy should be shown. Art thou now 
satisfied ?” 

“ It will give me pleasure, doubtless,” answered Morton, 
“ to be the means of softening the horrors of civil war ; and 
I will not leave the post I have taken unless I see measures 
adopted at which my conscience revolts. But to no bloody 
executions after quarter asked, or slaughter without trial, will 
I lend countenance or sanction ; and you may depend on my 
opposing them, with both heart and hand, as constantly and 
resolutely, if attempted by our own followers, as when they 
are the work of the enemy.” 

Balfour waved his band impatiently. 

“ Thou wilt find,” he said, “ that the stubborn and hard- 
hearted generation with whom we deal must be chastised with 
scorpions ere their hearts be humbled, and ere they accept 
the punishment of their iniquity. The word is gone forth 
against them, ‘I will bring a sword upon you that shall 
avenge the quarrel of my Covenant/ But what is done shall 
be done gravely, and with discretion, like that of the worthy 
James Melvin, who executed judgment on the tyrant 9-nd 
oppressor. Cardinal Beaton,” 


m 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


“ I own to you,” replied Morton, “ that I feel still mora 
abhorrent at cold-blooded and premeditated cruelty than at 
that which is practised in the heat of zeal and resentment/* 

“ Thou art yet but a youth,” replied Balfour, “ and hast 
not learned how light in the balance are a few drops of blood 
in comparison to the weight and importance of this great 
national testimony. But be not afraid ; thyself shall vote 
and judge in these matters ; it may be we shall see little cause 
to strive together anent them.” 

With this concession Morton was compelled to he satis- 
fied for the present ; and Burley left him, advising him to 
lie down and get some rest, as the host would probably move 
in the morning. 

“ And you,” answered Morton, “ do not you go to rest 
also ? ” 

“No,” said Burley ; “ my eyes must not yet know slum- 
ber. This is no work to be done lightly ; I have yet to perfect 
the choosing of the committee of leaders, and I will call you 
by times in the morning to be present at their consultation.” 

He turned away, and left Morton to his repose. 

The place in which he found himself was not ill adapted 
for the purpose, being a sheltered nook, beneath a large rock, 
well protected from the prevailing wind. A quantity of moss 
with which the ground was overspread made a couch soft 
enough for one who had suffered so much hardship and anx- 
iety. Morton wrapped himself in the horseman’s cloak which 
he had still retained, stretched himself on the ground, and 
had not long indulged in melancholy reflections on the state 
of the country, and upon his own condition, ere he was 
relieved from them by deep and sound slumber. 

The rest of the army slept on the ground, dispersed in 
groups, which chose their beds on the fields as they could 
best find shelter and convenience. A few of the principal 
leaders held wakeful conference with Burley on the state of 
their affairs, and some watchmen were appointed who kept 
themselves on the alert by chanting psalms, or listening to 
the exercises of the more gifted of their number. 


I 


r 


CHAPTER XXIII 

Got with much ease — now merrily to horse. 

Henry IV., Part I 

With the first peep of day Henry awoke and found che 
faithful Cuddie standing beside him with a portmanteau in 
his hand. 

“ I hae been just putting your honor's things in readiness 
again ye were waking/' said Cuddie, “ as is my duty, seeing 
ye hae been sae gude as to tak me into your service." 

“ I take you into my service, Cuddie ? " said Morton ; 
“you must be dreaming." 

“ Na, na, stir," answered Cuddie ; “ didna I say when I 
was tied on the horse yonder, that if ever ye gat loose I would 
be your servant, and ye didna say no ? and if that isna hir- 
ing, I kenna what is. Ye gae me nae arles, indeed, but ye 
had gien me eneugh before at Milnwood." 

“ Well, Cuddie, if you insist on taking the chance of my 
unprosperous fortunes " 

“ Ou, ay, I'se warrant us a' prosper weel eneugh," an- 
swered Cuddie, cheeringly, “an anes my auld mither was 
weel putten up. I hae begun the campaigning trade at an 
end that is easy eneugh to learn." 

“ Pillaging, I suppose?" said Morton, “for how else 
could you come by that portmanteau ?" 

“ I wotna if it's pillaging, or how ye ca't," said Cuddie, 
“ but it comes natural to a body, and it's a profitable trade. 
Our folk had tirled the dead dragoons as bare as. bawbees 
before we were loose amaist. But when I saw the Whigs a' weel 
yokit by the lugs to Kettledrummle and the other chield, I 
set off at the lang trot on my ain errand and your honor's. 
Sae I took up the syke a wee bit, away to the right, where I 
saw the marks o' mony a horse-foot ; and sure eneugh I cam 
to a place where there had been some clean leatherin', and a' 
the puir chields were lying there buskit wi' their claes just 
as they had put them on that morning — naebody had found 
out that pose o' carcages ; and wha suld be in the midst 
thereof, as my mither says, but our auld acquaintance, Ser- 
geant Both well ? " 


208 


WAVE RLE V NOVELS 


“ Ay, has that man fallen ? ” said Morton. 

“Troth has he,” answered Cuddie ; “ and his een were 
open and his brow brent, and his teeth clinched thegither, 
like the jaws of a trap for foumarts when the spring’s doun. 
I was amaist feared to look at him ; however, I thought to hae 
turn about wi’ him, and sae I e’en riped his pouches, as he 
had dune mony an hones ter man’s ; and here’s your ain siller 
again — or your uncle’s, which is the same — that he got at Miln- 
wood that unlucky night that made us a’ sodgers thegither.” 

“ There can be no harm, Cuddie,” said Morton, “ in mak- 
ing use of this money, since we know how he came by it ; but 
you must divide with me.” 

“ Bide a wee — bide a wee,” said Cuddie. “ Weel, and 
there’s a bit ring he had hinging in a black ribbon doun on 
his breast — I am thinking it has been a love-token, puir fal- 
low, there’s naebody sae rough but they hae aye a kind heart 
to the lasses — and there’s a book wi’ a wheen papers, and I 
got twa or three odd things, that I’ll keep to mysell, forbye.” 

“Upon my word, you have made a very successful foray 
for a beginner,” said his new master. 

“ Haena I e’en now ? ” said Cuddie, with great exultation. 
“ I tauld ye I wasna that dooms stupid, if it cam to lifting 
things. And forbye, I hae gotten twa gude horse. A feck- 
less loon of a Straven weaver, that has left his loom and his 
bien house to sit skirling on a cauld hillside, had catched twa 
dragoon naigs, and he could neither gar them hup nor wind, 
sae he took a gowd noble for them baith. I suld hae tried him 
wi’ half the siller, but it’s an unco ill place to get change in. 
Ye’ll find the siller’s missing out o’ Bothwell’s purse.” 

“You have made a most excellent and useful purchase, 
Cuddie ; but what is that portmanteau ? ” 

“The pockmantle ?” answered Cuddie. “It was Lord 
Evandale’s yesterday, and it’s yours the day. I fand it ahint 
the bush o’ broom yonder ; ilka dog has ifs day. Ye ken what 
the auld sang says, 

“Take turn about, mither, quo’ Tam o’ the Linn. 

And speaking o’ that, I maun gang and see about my mither, 
puir auld body, if your honor hasna ony immediate com- 
mands.” 

“ But, Cuddie,” said Morton, “ I really cannot take these 
things from you without some recompense.” 

“ Hout fie, stir,” answered Cuddie, “ ye suld aye be tak- 
ing ; for recompense, ye may think about that some other 


OLD MORTALITY 


209 


time ; I hae seen gay weel to mysell wF some things that fit 
me better. What could I do wF Lord Evandale's braw claes? 
Sergeant Bothwell’s will serve me weel eneugh.” 

Not being able to prevail on the self-constituted and dis- 
interested follower to accept of anything for himself out of 
these warlike spoils, Morton resolved to take the first oppor- 
tunity of returning Lord Evandale's property, supposing him 
yet to be alive ; and in the meanwhile, did not hesitate to 
avail himself of Cuddie’s prize, so far as to appropriate some 
changes of linen and other trifling articles among those of more 
value which the portmanteau contained. 

He then hastily looked over the papers which were found 
in BothwelFs pocketbook. These were of a miscellaneous 
description. The roll of his troop, with the names of those 
absent on furlough, memorandums of tavern bills, and lists of 
delinquents who might be made subjects of fine and persecu- 
tion, first presented themselves, along with a copy of a war- 
rant from the privy council to arrest certain persons of 
distinction therein named. In another pocket of the book 
were one or two commissions which Bothwell had held at dif- 
ferent times, and certificates of his services abroad, in which 
his courage and military talents were highly praised. But 
the most remarkable paper was an accurate account of his 
genealogy, with reference to many documents for establish- 
ment of its authenticity ; subjoined was a list of the ample 
possessions of the forfeited Earls of Bothwell, and a particu- 
lar account of the proportions in which King James VI. had 
bestowed them on the courtiers and nobility by whose descend- 
ants they were at present actually possessed ; beneath this list 
was written, in red letters, in the hand of the deceased. Hand 
Immemor, F. S. E. B., the initials probably intimating Fran- 
cis Stewart, Earl of Bothwell. To these documents, which 
strongly painted the character and feelings of their deceased 
proprietor, were added some which showed him in a light 
greatly different from that in which we have hitherto pre- 
sented him to the reader. 

In a secret pocket of the book, which Morton did not dis- 
cover without some trouble, were one or two letters, written 
in a beautiful female hand. They were dated about twenty 
years back, bore no address, and were subscribed only by 
initials. Without having time to peruse them accurately, 
Morton perceived that they contained the elegant yet fond 
expressions of female affection directed towards an object 
whose jealousy they endeavored to soothe, and of whose 
hasty, suspicious, and impatient temper the writer seemed 


210 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


gently to complain. The ink of these manuscripts had 
faded by time, and, notwithstanding the great care which had 
obviously been taken for their preservation, they were in one 
or two places chafed so as to be illegible. 

“ It matters not,” these words were written on the envelope 
of that which had suffered most, “ I have them by heart.” 

With these letters was a lock of hair wrapped in a copy 
of verses, written obviously with a feeling which atoned, in 
Morton’s opinion, for the roughness of the poetry, and the 
conceits with which it abounded, according to the taste of 
the period : 

Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright, 

As in that well remember’d night, 

When first thy mystic braid was wove, 

And first my Agnes whisper’d love. 

Since then, how often hast thou press’d 
The torrid zone of this wild breast, 

Whose wrath and hate have sworn to dwell 
With the first sin which peopled hell ; 

A breast whose blood’s a troubled ocean, 

Each throb the earthquake’s wild commotion l 
O, if such clime tlioucanst endure, 

Yet keep thy hue unstain’d and pure- 
What conquest o’er each erring thought 
Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought ! 

I had not wander’d wild and wide, 

With such an angel for my guide ; 

Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove me. 

If she had lived, and lived to love me. 

Not then this world’s wild joys had been 
To me one savage hunting scene, 

My sole delight the headlong race, 

And frantic hurry of the chase, 

To start, pursue, and bring to bay, 

Kush in, drag down, and rend my prey, 

Then from the carcass turn away ; 

Mine ireful mood had sweetness tamed, 

And soothed each wound which pride inflamed ; — 

Yes, God and man might now approve me, 

If thou hadst lived, and lived to love me ! 

As he finished reading these lines, Morton could not forbear 
reflecting with compassion on the fate of this singular and 
most unhappy being, who, it appeared, while in the lowest state 
of degradation, and almost of contempt, had his recollections 
continually fixed on the high station to which his birth seemed 
to entitle him ; and, while plunged in gross licentiousness, 
was in secret looking back with bitter remorse to the period of 
his youth, during which he had nourished a virtuous, though 
unfortunate, attachment. 


OLD MORTALITY 


211 


“Alas! what are we/' said Morton, “that our best and 
most praiseworthy feelings can be thus debased and depraved ; 
that honorable pride can sink into haughty and desperate in- 
difference for general opinion, and the sorrow of blighted 
affection inhabit the same bosom which license, revenge, and 
rapine have chosen for their citadel ? But it is the same through- 
out ; the liberal principles of one man sink into cold and un- 
feeling indifference, the religious zeal of another hurries him 
into frantic and savage enthusiasm. Our resolutions, our 
passions, are like the waves of the sea, and, without the aid 
of Him who formed the human breast, we cannot say to its 
tides, ‘Thus far shall ye come, and no farther.*” 

While he thus moralized, he raised his eyes, and observed 
that Burley stood before him. 

“ Already awake ?” said that leader. “ It is well, and shows 
zeal to tread the path before } T ou. What papers are these ?” 
he continued. 

Morton gave him some brief account of Cuddie*s successful 
marauding party, and handed him the pocketbook of Both well, 
with its contents. The Cameronian leader looked with some 
attention on such of the papers as related to military affairs or 
public business ; but when he came to the verses he threw 
them from him with contempt. 

“I little thought,” he said, “ when, by the blessing of God, 
I passed my sword three times through the body of that arch 
tool of cruelty and persecution, that a character so desperate 
and so dangerous could have stooped to an art as trifling as it 
is profane. But I see that Satan can blend the most different 
qualities in his well-beloved and chosen agents, and that the 
same hand which can wield a club or a slaughter-weapon 
against the godly in the valley of destruction can tcuch a 
tinkling lute or a gittern, to soothe the ears of the dancing 
daughters of perdition in their Vanity Fair.” 

“Your ideas of duty, then,” said Morton, “exclude love 
of the fine arts, which have been supposed in general to purify 
and to elevate the mind ?** 

“Tome, young man,” answered Burley, “and to those 
who think as I do, the pleasures of this world, under whatever 
name disguised, are vanity, as its grandeur and power are a 
snare. We have but one object on earth, and that is to build 
up the temple of the Lord.** 

“I have heard my father observe,” replied Morton, “ that 
many who assumed power in the name of Heaven were as se- 
vere in its exercise, and as unwilling to part with it, as if they 
had been solely moved by the motives of worldly ambition,— 


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but of this another time. Have you succeeded in obtaining a 
committee of the council to be nominated ? ” 

“ I have,” answered Burley. “ The number is limited to 
six, of which you are one, and I come to call you to their de- 
liberations.” 

Morton accompanied him to a sequestered grass-plot, where 
their colleagues awaited them. In this delegation of author- 
ity, the two principal factions which divided the tumultuary 
army had each taken care to send three of their own number. 
On the part of the Cameronians were Burley, Macbriar, and 
Kettledrummle ; and on that of the Moderate party Pound- 
text, Henry Morton, and a small proprietor, called the Laird 
of Langcale. Thus the two parties were equally balanced by 
their representatives in the committee of management, al- 
though it seemed likely that those of the most violent opinions 
were, as is usual in such cases, to possess and exert the greater 
degree of energy. Their debate, however, was conducted 
more like men of this world than could have been expected 
from their conduct on the preceding evening. After maturely 
considering their means and situation, and the probable in- 
crease of their numbers, they agreed that they would keep 
their position for that day, in order to refresh their men, and 
give time to reinforcements to join them, and that, on the next 
morning, they would direct their march towards Tillietudlem, 
and summon that stronghold, as they expressed it, of Malig- 
nancy. If it was not surrendered to their summons, they re- 
solved to try the effect of a brisk assault ; and should that 
miscarry, it was settled that they should leave a part of their 
number to blockade the place, and reduce it, if possible, by 
famine, while their mam body should march forward to drive 
Claverhouse and Lord Ross from the town of Glasgow. Such 
was the determination of the council of management ; and 
thus Morton’s first enterprise in active life was likely to be 
the attack of a castle belonging to the parent of his mistress, 
and defended by her relative. Major Bellenden, to whom he 
personally owed many obligations ! He felt fully the embar- 
rassment of his situation, yet consoled himself with the reflec- 
tion that his newly acquired power in the insurgent army 
would give him, at all events, the means of extending to the 
inmates of Tillietudlem a protection which no other circum- 
stance could have afforded them ; and he was not without 
hope that he might be able to mediate such an accommoda- 
tion betwixt them and the Presbyterian army as should secure 
them a safe neutrality during the war which was about to 
ensue. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


There came a knight from the field of slain. 

His steed was drench’d in blood and rain. 

Finlay. 

We must now return to the fortress of Tillietudlem and its 
inhabitants. The morning, being the first after the battle of 
Loudon Hill, had dawned upon its battlements, and the de- 
fenders had already resumed the labors by which they pro- 
posed to render the place tenable, when the watchman, who 
was placed in a high turret, called the Warder’s Tower, gave 
the signal that a horseman was approaching. As he came 
nearer, his dress indicated an officer of the Life Guards ; and 
the slowness of his horse’s pace, as well as the manner in 
which the rider stooped on the saddle-bow, plainly showed 
that he was sick or wounded. The wicket was instantly 
opened to receive him, and Lord Evandale rode into the court- 
yard, so reduced by loss of blood that he was unable to dis- 
mount without assistance. As he entered the hall, leaning 
upon a servant, the ladies shrieked with surprise and terror; 
for, pale as death, stained with blood, his regimentals soiled 
and torn, and his hair matted and disordered, he resembled 
rather a spectre than a human being. But their next ex- 
clamation was that of joy at his escape. 

“ Thank God ! ” exclaimed Lady Margaret, “ that you are 
here, and have escaped the hands of the bloodthirsty murder- 
ers who have cut off so many of the king’s loyal servants ! ” 

“ Thank God !” added Edith, “that you^are here and in 
safety ! We have dreaded the worst. But you are wounded, 
and I fear we have little the means of assisting you.” 

“My wounds are only sword-cuts,” answered the young 
nobleman, as he reposed himself on a seat ; “the pain is not 
worth mentioning, and I should not even feel exhausted but 
for the loss of blood. But it was not my purpose to bring 
my weakness to add to your danger and distress, but to re- 
lieve them, if possible. What can I do for you ? Permit 
me,” he added, addressing Lady Margaret — “ permit me to 
think and act as your son, my dear madam — as your brother, 
Edith 1 ” 


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He pronounced the last part of the sentence with some 
emphasis, as if he feared that the apprehension of his pre- 
tensions as a suitor might render his proffered services un- 
acceptable to Miss Bellenden. She was not insensible to his 
delicacy, but there was no time for exchange of senti- 
ments. 

“ We are preparing for our defence,” said the old lady, 
with great dignity; “my brother has taken charge of our 
garrison, and, by the grace of God, we will give the rebels 
such a reception as they deserve.” 

“ How gladly,” said Evandale, “ would I share in the de- 
fence of the Castle ! But in my present state I should be but 
a burden to you ; nay, something worse, for the knowledge 
that an officer of the Life Guards was in the Castle would be 
sufficient to make these rogues more desperately earnest to 
possess themselves of it. If they find it defended only by 
the family, they may possibly march on to Glasgow rather 
than hazard an assault.” 

“And can you think so meanly of us, my lord,” said 
Edith, with the generous burst of feeling which woman so 
often evinces, and which becomes her so well, her voice fal- 
tering through eagerness, and her brow coloring with the 
noble warmth which dictated her language — “ can you thinK 
so meanly of your friends, as that they would permit such 
considerations to interfere with their sheltering and protect- 
ing you at a moment when you are unable to defend yourself, 
and when the whole country is filled with the enemy ? Is 
there a cottage in Scotland whose owners would permit a 
valued friend to leave it in such circumstances ? And can 
you think we will allow you to go from a castle which we 
hold to be strong enough for our own defence ?” 

“ Lord Evandale need never think of it,” said Lady Mar- 
garet. “ I will dress his wounds myself ; it is all an old 
wife is fit for in war time ; but to quit the Castle of Tillie- 
tudlem when the sword of the enemy is drawn to slay him — 
the meanest trooper that ever wore the king’s coat on his 
back should not do so, much less my young Lord Evandale. 
Ours is not a house that ought to brook such dishonor. The 
Tower of Tillietudlem has been too much distinguished by 
the visit of his most sacred ” 

Here she was interrupted by the entrance of the Major. 

“ We have taken a prisoner, my dear uncle,” said Edith — 
“ a wounded prisoner, and he wants to escape from us. You 
must help us to keep him by force.” 

“ Lord Evandale ! ” exclaimed the veteran, “I am a§ 


OLD MORTALITY 


215 


much pleased as when I got my first commission. Claver- 
house reported you were killed, or missing at least.” 

“ I should have been slain but for a friend of yours,” said 
Lord Evandale, speaking with some emotion, and bending his 
eyes on the ground, as if he wished to avoid seeing the im- 
pression that what he was about to say would make upon Miss 
Bellenden. “ I was unhorsed and defenceless, and the sword 
raised to despatch me, when young Mr. Morton, the prisoner 
for whom you interested yourself yesterday morning, inter- 
posed in the most generous manner, preserved my life, and 
furnished me with the means of escaping.” 

As he ended the sentence, a painful curiosity overcame his 
first resolution ; he raised his eyes to Edith’s face, and imag- 
ined he could read, in the glow of her cheek and the sparkle 
of her eye, joy at hearing of her lover’s safety and freedom, 
and triumph at his not having been left last in the race of 
generosity. Such, indeed, were her feelings ; but they were 
also mingled with admiration of the ready frankness with which 
Lord Evandale had hastened to bear witness to the merit of a 
favored rival, and to acknowledge an obligation which, in all 
probability, he would rather have owed to any other individual 
in the world. 

Major Bellenden, who would never have observed the emo- 
tions of either party, even had they been much more mark- 
edly expressed, contented himself with saying, “ Since Henry 
Morton has influence with these rascals, I am glad he has so 
exerted it ; but I hope he will get clear of them as soon as he 
can. Indeed, I cannot doubt it. I know his principles, and 
that he detests their cant and hypocrisy. I have heard him 
laugh a thousand times at the pedantry of that old Presby- 
terian scoundrel, Poundtext, who, after enjoying the Indul- 
gence of the government for so many years, has now, upon the 
very first ruffle, shown himself in his own proper colors, and 
set off, with three parts of his crop-eared congregation, to join 
the host of the fanatics. But how did you escape after leav- 
ing the field, my lord ?” 

“I rode for my life, as a recreant knight must,” answered 
Lord Evandale, smiling. “ I took the route where I thought 
I had least chance of meeting with any of the enemy, and I 
found shelter for several hours — you will hardly guess where.” 

“At Castle Bracklan, perhaps,” said Lady Margaret, “or 
in the house of some other loyal gentleman ?” 

“ No, madam. I was repulsed, under one mean pretext or 
another, from more than one house of that description, for 
fear of the enemy following my traces ; but I found refuge in 


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m 

the cottage of a poor widow whose husband had been shot 
within these three months by a party of our corps, and whose 
two sons are at this very moment with the insurgents.” 

“Indeed!” said Lady Margaret Bellenden ; “and was a 
fanatic woman capable o f such generosity ? But she disap- 
proved, I suppose, of the tenets of her family ? ” 

“ Far from it, madam,” continued the young nobleman ; 
‘ ‘ she was in principle a rigid recusant, but she saw my danger 
and distress, considered me as a fellow-creature, and forgot 
that I was a Cavalier and a soldier. She bound my wounds, 
and permitted me to rest upon her bed, concealed me from a 
party of the insurgents who were seeking for stragglers, sup- 
plied me with food, and did not suffer me to leave my place 
of refuge until she had learned that I had every chance of 
getting to this tower without danger.” 

“It was nobly done,” said Miss Bellenden ; “and I trust 
you will have an opportunity of rewarding her generosity.” 

“I am running up an arrear of obligation on all sides. 
Miss Bellenden, during these unfortunate occurrences,” re- 
plied Lord Evandale ; “but when I can attain the means of 
showing my gratitude, the will shall not be wanting.” 

All now joined in pressing Lord Evandale to relinquish 
his intention of leaving the Castle ; but the argument of Major 
Bellenden proved the most effectual. 

“ Your presence in the Castle will be most useful, if not 
absolutely necessary, my lord, in order to maintain, by your 
authority, proper discipline among the fellows whom Claver- 
house has left in garrison here, and who do not prove to be of 
the most orderly description of inmates ; and, indeed, we have 
the Colonel’s authority, for that very purpose, to detain any 
officer of his regiment who might pass this way.” 

“That,” said Lord Evandale, “is an unanswerable argu- 
ment, since it shows me that my residence here may be useful, 
even in my present disabled state.” 

“ For your wounds, my lord,” said the Major, “ if my sister. 
Lady Belienden, will undertake to give battle to any feverish 
symptom, if such should appear, I will answer that my old 
campaigner, Gideon Pike, shall dress a flesh-wound with any of 
the incorporation of barber-surgeons. He had enough of 
practice in Montrose’s time, for we had few regularly bred 
army chirurgeons, as you may well suppose. You agree + o 
stay with us, then ? ” 

“ My reasons for leaving the Castle,” said Lord Evandale, 
glancinga look towards Edith, “ though they evidently seemed 
weighty, must needs give way to those which infer the power of 


OLD MORTALITY 


217 


serving you. May I presume. Major, to inquire into the means 
and plan of defence which you have prepared ? or can I at- 
tend you to examine the works ?” 

It did not escape Miss Bellenden that Lord Evandale seemed 
much exhausted both in body and mind. “I think, sir,” she 
said, addressing the Major, “ that since Lord Evandale con- 
descends to become an officer of our garrison, you should begin 
by rendering him amenable to your authority, and ordering 
him to his apartment, that he may take some refreshment ere 
he enters on military discussions.” 

“ Edith is right,” said the old lady ; “ you must go instantly 
to bed, my lord, and take some febrifuge, which I will prepare 
with my own hand ; and my lady-in-waiting. Mistress Martha 
Weddell, shall make some friar's chicken, or something very 
light. I would not advise wine. John Gudyill, let the house- 
keeper make ready the chamber of dais. Lord Evandale must 
lie down instantly. Pike will take otf the dressings and ex- 
amine the state of the wounds. ” 

“ These are melancholy preparations, madam,” said Lord 
Evandale, as he returned thanks to Lady Margaret, and was 
about to leave the hall ; “ but I must submit to your ladyship's 
directions, and I trust that your skill will soon make me a 
more able defender of your castle than I am at present. You 
must render my body serviceable as soon as you can, for you 
have no use for my head while you have Major Bellenden.” 

AVith these words he left the apartment. 

“ An excellent young man, and a modest,” said the Major. 

“None of that conceit,” said Lady Margaret, “that often 
makes young folk suppose they know better how their com- 
plaints should be treated than people that have had expe- 
rience.” 

“ And so generous and handsome a young nobleman,” said 
Jenny Dennison, who had entered during the latter part of this 
conversation, and was now left alone with her mistress in the 
hall, the Major returning to his military cares, and Lady Mar- 
garet to her medical preparations. 

Edith only answered these encomiums with a sigh ; but, 
although silent, she felt and knew better than any one how 
much they were merited by the person on whom they were 
bestowed. 

Jenny, however, failed not to follow up her blow. “ After 
a', it's true that my leddy says, there's nae trusting a Presby- 
terian ; they are a' faithless man sworn louns. Wha wad 
hae thought that voung Milnwood and Cuddie Headrigg wad 
Kae taen cn wP thae lebel blackguards ? " 


218 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


“ What do you mean by such improbable nonsense, J enny ? * 
said her young mistress, very much displeased. 

“ I ken it’s no pleasing for you to hear, madam,” an- 
swered Jenny, hardily, “and it’s as little pleasant for me to 
tell ; but as gude ye suld ken a’ about it sune as syne, for the 
haill Castle’s ringing wi’t.” 

“ Ringing with what, Jenny ? Have you a mind to drive 
me mad ? ” answered Edith, impatiently. 

“Just that Henry Morton of Milnwood is out wi’ the 
rebels, and ane o’ their chief leaders.” 

“ It is a falsehood ! ” said Edith — “a most base calumny! 
and you are very bold to dare to repeat it to me. Henry Morton 
is incapable of such treachery to his king and country, such 
cruelty to me — to — to all the innocent and defenceless victims, 
I mean — who must suffer in a civil war ; I tell you he is 
utterly incapable of it, in every sense.” 

“ Dear ! dear ! Miss Edith,” replied Jenny, still constant 
to her text, “ they maun be better acquainted wi’ young men 
than I am, or ever wisli to be, that can tell preceesely what 
they’re capable or no capable o’. But there has been Trooper 
Tam and another chield out in bonnets and gray plaids, like 
countrymen, to recon — reconnoitre, I think John (Judyill 
ca’d it ; and they hae been amang the rebels, and brought 
back word that they had seen young Milnwood mounted on 
ane o’ the dragoon horses that was taen at Loudon Hill, 
armed wi’ swords and pistols, like wha but him, and hand 
and glove wi’ the foremost o’ them, and dreeling and com- 
manding the men ; and Cuddie at the heels o’ him, in ane o’ 
Sergeant Bothwell’s laced waistcoats, and a cockit hat with a 
bab o’ blue ribbands at it for the auld cause o’ the Cov- 
enant — but Cuddie aye liked a blue ribband— and a ruffled 
sark, like ony lord o’ the land ; it sets the like o’ him, in- 
deed ! ” 

“Jenny,” said her young mistress, hastily, “it is im- 
possible these men’s report can be true ; my uncle has heard 
nothing of it at this instant.” 

“ Because Tam Halliday,” answered the handmaiden, 
“came in just five minutes after Lord Evandale ; and when 
he heard his lordship was in the Castle, he swore — the profane 
loon ! — he would be d — d ere he would make the report, as he 
ca’d it, of his news 10 Major Bellenden, since there was an 
officer of his ain regiment in the garrison. Sae he wad have 
said naething till Lord Evandale wakened the next morning ; 
only he tauld me about it [here Jenny looked a little down], 
just to vex me about Cuddie.” 


OLD MORTALITY 


219 


u Poh, you silly girl,” said Edith, assuming some courage, 
“ it is all a trick of that fellow to teaze you.” 

“ Na, madam, itcanna be that, for John Gudyill took the 
other dragoon — he's an auld hard-favored man, I wotna his 
name — into the cellar, and gae him a tass o' brandy to get the 
news out o' him, and he said just the same as Tam Halliday, 
word for word ; and Mr. Gudyill was in sic a rage that he 
tauld it a' ower again to us, and says the haill rebellion is ow- 
ing to the nonsense o' my leddy and the Major, and Lord 
Evandale, that begged off young Milnwood and Cuddie yester- 
day morning, for that, if they had suffered, the country wad 
hae been quiet ; and troth I am muckle o' that opinion my- 
sell." 

This last commentary Jenny added to her tale, in resent- 
ment of her mistress's extreme and obstinate incredulity. She 
was instantly alarmed, however, by the effect which her news 
produced upon her young lady, an effect rendered doubly 
violent by the High Church principles and prejudices in 
which Miss Bellenden had been educated. Her complexion 
became as pale as a corpse, her respiration so difficult that it 
was on the point of altogether failing her, and her limbs so 
incapable of supporting her that she sunk, rather than sat, 
down upon one of the seats in the hall, and seemed on the 
eve of fainting. Jenny tried cold water, burnt feathers, 
cutting of laces, and all other remedies usual in hysterical 
cases, but without any immediate effect. 

“ God forgie me ! what hae I done ?" said the repentant 
fille-de-chamire. “I wish my tongue had been cuttit out ! 
Wha wad hae thought o' her taking on that way, and a' for a 
young lad ? 0, Miss Edith — dear Miss Edith, haud your 

heart up about it ; it's maybe no true for a' that I hae said. 
0, I wish my mouth had been blistered ! A'body tells me my 
tongue will do me a mischief some day. What if my leddy 
comes ? or the Major ? and she's sitting in the throne, too, 
that naebody has sat in since that weary morning the King 
was here ! 0, what will I do ? 0, what will become o' us ? " 

While Jenny Dennison thus lamented herself and her 
mistress, Edith slowly returned from the paroxysm into which 
she had been thrown by this unexpected intelligence. 

“If he had been unfortunate,'' she said, “I never would 
have deserted him. I never did so, even when there was 
danger and disgrace in pleading his cause. If he had died, 
I would have mourned him ; if he had been unfaithful, I 
would have forgiven him ; but a rebel to his king, a traitor 
to his country, the associate and colleague of cutthroats and 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


m 

common stabbers, the persecutor of all that is noble, the pro- 
fessed and blasphemous enemy of all that is sacred,— -I will 
tear him from my heart, if my life-blood should ebb in the 
effort ! ” 

She wiped her eyes and rose hastily from the great chair 
(or throne, as Lady Margaret used to call rt), while the terri- 
fied damsel hastened to shake up the cushion, and efface the 
appearance of any one having occupied that sacred seat ; 
although King Charles himself, considering the youth and 
beauty as well as the affliction of the momentary usurper of 
his hallowed chair, would probably have thought very little of 
the profanation. She then hastened officiously to press her 
support on Edith, as she paced the hall apparently in deep 
meditation. 

“ Tak my arm, madam — better just tak my arm ; sorrow 
maun hae its vent, and doubtless ” 

“No, Jenny,” said Edith, with firmness, “you have seen 
my weakness, and you shall see my strength.” 

“But ye leaned on me the other morning. Miss Edith, 
when ye were sae sair grieved.” 

“Misplaced and erring affection may require support, 
Jenny ; duty can support itself, — yet I will do nothing rashly. 
I will be aware of the reasons of his conduct, and then — cast 
him off forever,” was the firm and determined answer of her 
young lady. 

Overawed by a manner of which she could neither conceive 
the motive nor estimate the merit, Jenny muttered between 
her teeth, “ Odd, when the first flight’s ower, Miss Edith taks 
it as easy as I do, and muckle easier, and I’m sure I ne’er 
cared half sae muckle about Cuddie Headrigg as she did about 
young Milnwood. Eorbye that, it’s maybe as weel to hae a 
friend on baith sides ; for, if the Whigs suld come to tak the 
Castle, as it’s like they may, when there’s sae little victual, 
and the dragoons wasting what’s o’t, ou, in that case, Miln- 
wood and Cuddie wad hae the upper hand, and their f reend- 
sliip wad be worth siller ; I was thinking sae this morning or 
I heard the news.” 

With this consolatory reflection the damsel went about her 
usual occupations, leaving her mistress to school her mind as 
she best might, for eradicating the sentiments which she had 
hitherto entertained towards Henry Morton. 


CHAPTER XXY 


Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more I 

Henry V. 

On the evening of this day, all the information which they 
could procure led them to expect that the insurgent army 
would be with early dawn on their march against Tillietud- 
lem. Lord Evandale^s wounds had been examined by Pike, 
who reported them in a very promising state. They were 
numerous, but none of any consequence ; and the loss of 
blood, as much perhaps as the boasted specific of Lady Mar- 
garet, had prevented any tendency to fever ; so that, not- 
withstanding he felt some pain and great weakness, the pa- 
tient maintained that he was able to creep about with the 
assistance of a stick. In these circumstances, he refused to be 
confined to his apartment, both that he might encourage the 
soldiers by his presence, and suggest any necessary addition 
to the plan of defence, which the Major might be supposed to 
have arranged upon something of an antiquated fashion of 
warfare. Lord Evandale was well qualified to give advice on 
such subjects, having served, during his early youth, both in 
France and in the Low Countries. There was little or no oc- 
casion, however, for altering the preparations already made ; 
and, excepting on the article of provisions, there seemed no 
reason to fear for the defence of so strong a place against such 
assailants as those by whom it was threatened. 

With the peep of day, Lord Evandale and Major Bellenden 
were on the battlements again, viewing and re-viewing the state 
of their preparations, and anxiously expecting the approach 
of the enemy. I ought to observe, that the report of the spies 
had now been regularly made and received ; but the Major 
treated the report that Morton was in arms against the govern- 
ment with the most scornful incredulity. 

“I know the lad better,” was the only reply he deigned to 
make ; “ the fellows have not dared to venture near enough, 
and have been deceived by some fanciful resemblance, or have 
picked up some story.” 

“ I differ from you, Major,” answered Lord Evandale ; “ I 
221 


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think you will see that young gentleman at the head of the 
insurgents ; and, though I shall be heartily sorry for it, I shall 
not be greatly surprised.” 

“ You are as bad as Claverhouse,” said the Major, “ who 
contended yesterday morning doVn my very throat that this 
young fellow, who is as high-spirited and gentlemanlike a 
hoy as I have ever known, wanted but an opportunity to place 
himself at the head of the rebels.” 

“ And considering the usage which he has received, and 
the suspicions under which he lies,” said Lord Evandale, 
“what other course is open to him ? For my own part, I 
should hardly know whether he deserved most blame or pity.” 

“Blame, my lord ! pity ?” echoed the Major, astonished 
at hearing such sentiments. “He would deserve to be 
hanged, that’s all ; and were he my own son, I should see 
him strung up with pleasure. Blame, indeed ! But your 
lordship cannot think as you are pleased to speak ? ” 

“I give you my honor, Major Bellenden, that I have been 
for some time of opinion that our politicians and prelates have 
driven matters to a painful extremity in this country, and 
have alienated, by violence of various kinds, not only the 
lower classes, but all those in the upper ranks whom strong 
party feeling or a desire of court interest does not attach to 
their standard.” 

“ I am no politician,” answered the Major, “and I do not 
understand nice distinctions. My sword is the king’s, and 
when he commands, I draw it in his cause.” 

“ I trust,” replied the young lord, “you will not find me 
more backward than yourself, though I heartily wish that 
the enemy were foreigners. It is, however, no time to de- 
bate that matter, for yonder they come, and we must defend 
ourselves as well as we can.” 

As Lord Evandale spoke, the van of the insurgents began 
to make their appearance on the road which crossed the top 
of the hill, and thence descended opposite to the Tower. 
They did not, however, move downwards, as if aware that, in 
doing so, their columns would be exposed to the fire of the 
artillery of the place. But their numbers, which at first 
seemed few, appeared presently so to deepen and concentrate 
themselves that, judging of the masses which occupied the 
road behind the hill from the closeness of the front which 
they presented on the top of it, their force appeared very 
considerable. There was a pause of anxiety on both sides ; 
and, while the unsteady ranks of the Covenanters were agi- 
tated, as if by pressure behind or uncertainty as to their next 


OLD MORTALITY 


223 


movement, their arms, picturesque from their variety, glanced 
in the morning sun, whose beams were reflected from a grove 
of pikes, muskets, halberds, and battle-axes. The armed 
mass occupied, for a few minutes, this fluctuating position, 
until three or four horsemen, who seemed to be leaders, ad- 
vanced from the front, and occupied the height a little nearer 
to the Castle. John Gudyill, who was not without some skill 
as an artilleryman, brought a gun to bear on this detached 
group. 

“ IT1 flee the falcon [so the small cannon was called] — I'll 
flee the falcon whene'er your honor gies command ; my certie, 
she'll ruffle their feathers for them ! " 

The Major looked at Lord Evandale. 

“ Stay a moment," said the young nobleman, “ they send 
us a flag of truce." 

In fact, one of the horsemen at that moment dismounted, 
and, displaying a white cloth on a pike, moved forward to- 
wards the Tower, while the Major and Lord Evandale, de- 
scending from the battlement of the main fortress, advanced 
to meet him as far as the barricade, judging it unwise to ad- 
mit him within the precincts which they designed to defend. 
At the same time that the ambassador set forth, the group of 
horsemen, as if they had anticipated the preparations of John 
Gudyill for their annoyance, withdrew from the advanced 
station which they had occupied, and fell back to the main 
body. 

The envoy of the Covenanters, to judge by his mien and 
manner, seemed fully imbued with that spiritual pride which 
distinguished his sect. His features were drawn up to a con- 
temptuous primness, and his half-shut eyes seemed to scorn 
to look upon the terrestrial objects around, while, at every 
solemn stride, his toes were pointed outwards with an air that 
appeared to despise the ground on which they trod. 

Lord Evandale could not suppress a smile at this singular 
figure. “ Did you ever," said he to Major Bellenden, “see 
such an absurd automaton ? One would swear it moves 
upon springs. Can it speak, think you ? " 

“ 0, ay," said the Major ; “that seems to be one of my 
old acquaintance, a genuine Puritan of the right pharisaical 
leaven. Stay, he coughs and hems ; he is about to summon 
the Castle with the butt-end of a sermon instead of a parley 
on the trumpet." 

The veteran, who in his day had had many an opportunity 
to become acquainted with the manners of these religionists, 
was not far mistaken in his conjecture ; only that instead of 


224 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


a prose exordium, the Laird of Langcale — for it was no less a 
personage — uplifted, with a stentorian voice, a verse of the 
twenty-fourth Psalm : 

“ Ye gates lift up your heads ! ye doors, 

Doors that do last for aye, 

Be lifted up ” 

“ I told you so,” said the Major to Evandale, and then 
presented himself at the entrance of the barricade, demand* 
ing to know for what purpose or intent he made that doleful 
noise, like a hog in a high wind, beneath the gates of the 
Castle. 

“ I come,” replied the ambassador, in a high and shrill 
voice, and without any of the usual salutations or deferences 
— “ I come from the godly army of the Solemn League and 
Covenant, to speak with two carnal Malignants, William 
Maxwell, called Lord Evandale, and Miles Bellenden of Charn- 
wood.” 

“ And what have you to say to Miles Bellenden and Lord 
Evandale ?” answered the Major. 

“ Are you the parties ?” said the Laird of Langcale, in 
the same sharp, conceited, disrespectful tone of voice. 

“ Even so, for fault of better,” said the Major. 

“ Then there is the public summons,” said the envoy, 
putting a paper into Lord Evandale's hand, “ and there is a 
private letter for Miles Bellenden from a godly youth, who is 
honored with leading a part of our host. Bead them quickly, 
and G-od give you grace to fructify by the contents, though 
it is muckle to be doubted.” 

The summons ran thus : “ We, the named and constituted 
leaders of the gentlemen, ministers, and others presently in 
arms for the cause of liberty and true religion, do warn and 
summon William Lord Evandale and Miles Bellenden of 
Charnwood, and others presently in arms, and keeping gar- 
rison in the Tower of Tillietudlem, to surrender the said Tower 
upon fair conditions of quarter, and license to depart with 
bag and baggage, otherwise to suffer such extremity of fire 
and sword as belong by the laws of war to those who hold out 
an untenable post. And so may God defend His own good 
cause ! ” 

This summons was signed by John Balfour of Burley, as 
quartermaster-general of the army of the Covenant, for him- 
self, and in name of the other leaders. 

The letter to Major Bellenden was from Henry Morton. 
It was couched in the following language : 


OLD MORTALITY 


m 


“ I have taken a step, my venerable friend, which, among 
many painful consequences, will, I am afraid, incur your very 
decided disapprobation. But I have taken my resolution in 
honor and good faith, and with the full approval of my own 
conscience. I can no longer submit to have my own rights 
and those of my fellow-subjects trampled upon, our freedom 
violated, our persons insulted, and our blood spilled, without 
just cause or legal trial. Providence, through the violence 
of the oppressors themselves, seems now to have opened a way 
of deliverance from this intolerable tyranny, and I do not 
hold him deserving of the name and rights of a freeman who, 
thinking as I do, shall withhold his arm from the cause of his 
country. But God, who knows my heart, be my witness that 
I do not share the angry or violent passions of the oppressed 
and harassed sufferers with whom I am now acting. My most 
earnest and anxious desire is to see this unnatural war brought 
to a speedy end by the union of the good, wise, and moderate 
of all parties, and a peace restored which, without injury to 
the King’s constitutional rights, may substitute the authority 
of equal laws for that of military violence, and, permitting to 
all men to worship God according to their own consciences, 
may subdue fanatical enthusiasm by reason and mildness, in- 
stead of driving it to frenzy by persecution and intolerance. 

“With these sentiments, you may conceive 'with what 
pain I appear in arms before the house of your venerable 
relative, which we understand you propose to hold out against 
us. Permit me to press upon you the assurance that such a 
measure will only lead to the effusion of blood ; that, if 
repulsed in the assault, we are yet strong enough to invest the 
place, and reduce it by hunger, being aware of your indif- 
ferent preparations to sustain a protracted siege. It would 
grieve me to the heart to think what would be the sufferings 
in such a case, and upon whom they would chiefly fall. 

“ Do not suppose, my respected friend, that I would pro- 
pose to you any terms which could compromise the high and 
honorable character which you have so deservedly won, and 
so long borne. If the regular soldiers, to whom I will insure 
a safe retreat, are dismissed from the place, 1 trust no more 
will be required than your parole to remain neuter during this 
unhappy contest ; and I will take care that Lady Margaret’s 
property, as well as yours, shall be duly respected, and no 
garrison intruded upon you. I could say much in favor of 
this proposal ; but 1 fear, as I must in the present instance 
appear criminal in your eyes, good arguments would lose their 
influence when coming from an unwelcome quarter. I will. 


220 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


therefore, break off with assuring you that, whatever your 
sentiments may be hereafter towards me, my sense of grati- 
tude to you can never be diminished or erased ; and it would 
be the happiest moment of my life that should give me more 
effectual means than mere words to assure you of it. There- 
fore, although in the first moment of resentment you may 
reject the proposal I make to you, let not that prevent you 
from resuming the topic, if future events should render it 
more acceptable ; for whenever, or howsoever, I can be of 
service to you, it will always afford the greatest satisfaction to 

“ Henry Morton.” 

Having read this long letter with the most marked indig- 
nation, Major Bellenden put it into the hands of Lord Evan- 
dale. 

“ I would not have believed this,” he said, “ of Henry 
Morton, if half mankind had sworn it ! The ungrateful, re- 
bellious traitor ! rebellious in cold blood, and without even 
the pretext of enthusiasm, that warms the liver of such a 
crack-brained fop as our friend the envoy there. But I should 
have remembered he was a Presbyterian ; I ought to have 
been aware that I was nursing a wolf-cub, whose diabolical 
nature would make him tear and snatch at me on the first 
opportunity. Were Saint Paul on earth again, and a Presby- 
terian, he would be a rebel in three months ; it is in the very 
blood of them.” 

“ Well,” said Lord Evandale, “I will be the last to rec- 
ommend surrender ; but, if our provisions fail, and we receive 
no relief from Edinburgh or Glasgow, I think we ought to 
avail ourselves of this opening to get the ladies, at least, safe 
out of the Castle.” 

“ They will endure all, ere they would accept the protection 
of such a smooth-tongued hypocrite,” answered the Major, 
indignantly; “I would renounce them for relatives were it 
otherwise. But let us dismiss the worthy ambassador. My 
friend,” he said, turning to Langcale, “tell your leaders, and 
the mob they have gathered yonder, that, if they have not a 
particular opinion of the hardness of their own skulls, I would 
advise them to beware how they knock them against these old 
walls. And let them send no more flags of truce, or we will 
hang up the messenger in retaliation of the murder of Cornet 
Grab ame.” 

With this answer the ambassador returned to those by 
whom he had been sent. He had no sooner reached the main 
body than a murmur was heard among the multitude, and 


OLD MORTALITY 


%2l 

there was raised in front of their ranks an ample red flag, the 
borders of which were edged with blue. As the signal of war 
and defiance spread out its large folds upon the morning wind, 
the ancient banner of Lady Margaret's family, together with 
the royal ensign, was immediately hoisted on the walls of the 
Tower, and at the same time a round of artillery was discharged 
against the foremost ranks of the insurgents, by which they 
sustained some loss. Their leaders instantly withdrew them 
to the shelter of the brow of the hill. 

“I think," said John Gudyill, while he busied himself in 
recharging his guns, “they hae fund the falcon's neb a bit 
ower hard for them.' It's no for naught that the hawk 
whistles." 

But as he uttered these words the ridge was once more 
crowded with the ranks of the enemy. A general discharge 
of their firearms was directed against the defenders upon the 
battlements. Under cover of the smoke, a column of picked 
men rushed down the road with determined courage, and, sus- 
taining with firmness a heavy fire from the garrison, they 
forced their way, in spite of opposition, to the first barricade 
by which the avenue was defended. They were led on by 
Balfour in person, who displayed courage equal to his enthusi- 
asm ; and, in spite of every opposition, forced the barricade, 
killing and wounding several of the defenders, and compelling 
the rest to retreat to their second position. The precautions, 
however, of Major Bellenden rendered this success unavailing ; 
for no sooner were the Covenanters in possession of the post 
than a close and destructive fire was poured into it from the 
Castle, and from those stations which commanded it in the 
rear. Having no means of protecting themselves from this 
fire, or of returning it with effect against men who were under 
cover of their barricades and defences, the Covenanters were 
obliged to retreat ; but not until they had, with their axes, 
destroyed the stockade, so as to render it impossible for the de- 
fenders to reoccupy it. 

Balfour was the last man that retired. He even remained 
for a short space almost alone, with an axe in his hand, labor- 
ing like a pioneer amid the storm of balls, many of which were 
specially aimed against him. The retreat of the party he com- 
manded was not effected without heavy loss, and served as a 
severe lesson concerning the local advantages possessed by the 
garrison. 

The next attack of the Covenanters was made with more 
caution. A strong party of marksmen, many of them com- 
petitors at the game of the popinjay, under the command of 


m 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


Henry Morton, glided through the woods where they afforded 
them the best shelter, and, avoiding the open road, endeav- 
ored, by forcing their way through the bushes and trees, and 
up the rocks which surrounded it on either side, to gain a 
position from which, without being exposed in an intolerable 
degree, they might annoy the flank of the second barricade, 
while it was menaced in front by a second attack from Bur- 
ley. The besieged saw the danger of this movement, and 
endeavored to impede the approach of the marksmen by firing 
upon them at every point where they showed themselves. The 
assailants, on the other hand, displayed great coolness, spirit, 
and judgment in the manner in which they approached the 
defences. This was in a great measure to be ascribed to the 
steady and adroit manner in which they were conducted by 
their youthful leader, who showed as much skill in protecting 
his own followers as spirit in annoying the enemy. 

He repeatedly enjoined his marksmen to direct their aim 
chiefly upon the redcoats, and to save the others engaged in 
the defence of the Castle ; and, above all, to spare the life of 
the old Major, whose anxiety made him more than once expose 
himself in a manner that, without such generosity on the part 
of the enemy, might have proved fatal. A dropping fire of 
musketry now glanced from every part of the precipitous 
mount on which the Castle was founded. From bush to bush, 
from crag to crag, from tree to tree, the marksmen continued 
to advance, availing themselves of branches and roots to as- 
sist their ascent, and contending at once with the disadvan- 
tages of the ground and the fire of the enemy. At length they 
got so high on the ascent that several of them possessed an op- 
portunity of firing into the barricade against the defenders, 
who then lay exposed to their aim, and Burley, profiting by 
the confusion of the moment, moved forward to the attack in 
front. His onset was made with the same desperation and 
fury as before, and met with less resistance, the defenders be- 
ing alarmed at the progress which the sharpshooters had made 
in turning the flank of their position. Determined to im- 
prove his advantage, Burley, with his axe in his hand, pursued 
the party whom he had dislodged even to the third and last 
barricade, and entered it along with them. 

“ Kill, kill ! down with the enemies of God and His peo- 
ple ! No quarter ! The Castle is ours ! 99 were the cries by 
which he animated his friends, the most undaunted of whom 
followed him close, while the others, with axes, spades, and 
other implements, threw up earth, cut down trees, hastily 
laboring to establish such a defensive cover in the rear of the 


OLD MORTALITY 


m 


second barricade as might enable them to retain possession of 
it, in case the Castle was not carried by this coup-de-main. 

Lord Evandale could no longer restrain his impatience. 
He charged with a few soldiers who had been kept in reserve 
in the courtyard of the Castle ; and, although his arm was in 
a sling, encouraged them, by voice and gesture, to assist their 
companions who were engaged with Burley. The combat now 
assumed an air of desperation. The narrow road was crowded 
with the followers of Burley, who pressed forward to support 
their companions. The soldiers, animated by the voice and 
presence of Lord Evandale, fought with fury, their small 
numbers being in some measure compensated by their greater 
skill, and by their possessing the upper ground, which they 
defended desperately with pikes and halberds, as well as with 
the butt of the carabines and their broadswords. Those with- 
in the Castle endeavored to assist their companions, whenever 
they could so level their guns as to fire upon the enemy with- 
out endangering their friends. The sharpshooters, dispersed 
around, were firing incessantly on each object that was ex- 
posed upon the battlement. The Castle was enveloped with 
smoke, and the rocks rang to the cries of the combatants. In 
the midst of this scene of confusion, a singular accident had 
nearly given the besiegers possession of the fortress. 

Cuddie Headrigg, who had advanced among the marksmen, 
being well acquainted with every rock and bush in the vicinity 
of the Castle, where he had so often gathered nuts with Jenny 
Dennison, was enabled, by such local knowledge, to advance 
further, and with less danger, than most of his companions, 
excepting some three or four who had followed him close. Now 
Cuddie, though a brave enoughfellow upon the whole, was by 
no means fond of danger, either for its own sake or for that 
of the glory which attends it. In his advance, therefore, he 
had not, as* the phrase goes, taken the bull by the horns, or 
advanced in front of the enemy's fire. On the contrary, he had 
edged gradually away from the scene of action, and, turning 
his line of ascent rather to the left, had pursued it until it 
brought him under a front of the Castle different from that 
before which the parties were engaged, and to which the 
defenders had given no attention, trusting to the steepness of 
the precipice. There was, however, on this point, a certain 
window belonging to a certain pantry, and communicating with 
a certain yew-tree, which grew out of a steep cleft of the rock, 
being the very pass through which Goose Gibbie was smuggled 
out of the Castle in order to carry Edith's express to Charn- 
wood, and which had probably, in its day, been used for other 


VYAVERLEY NOVELS 


m 

contraband purposes. Cuddie, resting upon the butt of his 
gun, and looking up at this window, observed to one of his 
companions, “ There's a place I ken weel ; mony a time I hae 
helped Jenny Dennison out o’ the winnock, forbye creeping 
in whiles mysell to get some daffiiT at e’en after the pleugh 
was loosed.” 

“ And what’s to hinder ns to creep in just now?” said 
the other, who was a smart enterprising young fellow. 

“There's no muckle to hinder us, an that were a’,” an- 
swered Cuddie ; “ but what were we to do neist ?” 

“ We’ll take the Castle,” cried the other; “here are five 
or six o’ us, and a’ the sodgcrs are engaged at the gate.” 

“ Come awa’ wi’ you, then,” said Cuddie ; “but mind, deii 
a finger ye maun lay on Lady Margaret, or Miss Edith, or the 
auld Major, or, aboon a’, on Jenny Dennison, or onybody 
but the sodgers ; cut and quarter amang them as ye like, I 
carena.” 

“Ay, ay,” said the other, “let us once in, and we will 
make our ain terms with them a’.” 

Gingerly, and as if treading upon eggs, Cuddie began to 
ascend the well-known pass, not very willingly ; for, besides 
that he was something apprehensive of the reception he might 
meet with in the inside, his conscience insisted that he was 
making but a shabby requital for Lady Margaret’s former 
favors and protection. He got up, however, into the yew-tree, 
followed by his companions, one after another. The window 
was small, and had been secured by stanchions of iron ; but 
these had been long worn away by time, or forced out by the 
domestics to possess a free passage for their own occasional 
convenience. Entrance was therefore easy, providing there 
was no one in the pantry, a point which Cuddie endeavored 
to discover before he made the final and perilous step. While 
his companions, therefore, were urging and threatening him 
behind, and he was hesitating and stretching his neck to look 
into the apartment, his head became visible to Jenny Denni- 
son, who had ensconced herself in said pantry as the safest 
place in which to wait the issue of the assault. So soon as 
this object of terror caught her eye, she set up an hysteric 
scream, flew to the adjacent kitchen, and, in the desperate 
agony of fear, seized on a pot of kail-brose which she her- 
self had hung on the fire before the combat began, having 
promised to Tam Halliday to prepare his breakfast for him. 
Thus burdened, she returned to the window of the pantry, and 
still exclaiming, “ Murder ! murder ! — we are a’ harried and 
ravished — the Castle’s taen — tak it amang ye ! ” she discharged 


OLD MORTALITY 


231 


the whole scalding contents of the pot, accompanied with a 
dismal yell, upon the person of the unfortunate Cuddle. 
However welcome the mess might have been, if Cuddie and it 
had become acquainted in a regular manner, tiie effects, as 
administered by Jenny, would probably have cured him of 
soldiering forever, had he been looking upwards when it was 
thrown upon him. But, fortunately for our man of war, he 
had taken the alarm upon Jenny's first scream, and was in 
the act of looking down, expostulating with his comrades, 
who impeded the retreat which he was anxious to commence ; 
so that the steel cap and buff coat which formerly belonged 
to Sergeant Bothwell, being garments of an excellent endur- 
ance, protected his person against the greater part of the 
scalding brose. Enough, however, reached him to annoy him 
severely, so that in the pain and surprise he jumped hastily 
out of the tree, oversetting his followers, to the manifest danger 
of their limbs, and, without listening to arguments, entreaties, 
or authority, made the best of his way by the most safe road 
to the main body of the army whereunto he belonged, and 
could neither by threats nor persuasion be prevailed upon to 
return to the attack. 

As for Jenny, when she had thus conferred upon one admir- 
er's outward man the viands which her fair hands hadso lately 
been in the act of preparing for the stomach of another, she 
continued her song of alarm, running a screaming division 
upon all those crimes which the lawyers call the four pleas of 
the crown, namely, murder, fire, rape, and robbery. These 
hideous exclamations gave so much alarm, and created such 
confusion within the Castle, that Major Bellenden and Lord 
Evandale judged it best to draw off from the conflict without 
the gates, and, abandoning to the enemy all the exterior de- 
fences of the avenue, confine themselves to the Castle itself, 
for fear of its being surprised on some unguarded point. 
Their retreat was unmolested ; for the panic of Cuddie and 
his companions had occasioned nearly as much confusion on 
the side of the besiegers as the screams of Jenny had caused 
to the defenders. 

There was no attempt on either side to renew the action 
that day. The insurgents had suffered most severely ; and, 
from the difficulty which they had experienced in carrying 
the barricaded positions without the precincts of the Castle, 
they could have but little hope of storming the place itself. 
On the other hand, the situation of the besieged was dis- 
spiriting and gloomy. In the skirmishing they had lost two 
or three men, and had several wounded ; and though their 


282 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


loss was in proportion greatly less than that of the enemy, 
who had left twenty men dead on the place, yet their small 
number could much worse spare it, while the desperate attacks 
of the opposite party plainly showed how serious the leaders 
were in the purpose of reducing the place, and how well 
seconded by the zeal of their followers. But, especially, the 
garrison had to fear for hunger, in case blockade should be 
resorted to as the means of reducing them. The Major's 
directions had been imperfectly obeyed in regard to laying 
in provisions ; and the dragoons, in spite of all warning and 
authority, were likely to be wasteful in using them. It was, 
therefore, with a heavy heart that Major Bellenden gave 
directions for guarding the window through which the Castle 
had so nearly been surprised, as well as all others which offered 
the most remote facility for such an enterprise. 


i 


CHAPTER XXVI 


£) 

The King hath drawn 
The special head of all the land together. 

Henry IV., Part H. 

The leaders of the Presbyterian army had a serious consul- 
tation upon the evening of the day in which they had made 
the attack on Tillietudlem. They could not but observe 
that their followers were disheartened by the loss which they 
nad sustained, and which, as usual in such cases, had fallen 
upon the bravest and most forward. It was to be feared 
that, if they were suffered to exhaust their zeal and efforts in 
an object so secondary as the capture of this petty fort, their 
numbers would melt away by degrees, and they would lose 
all the advantages arising out of the present unprepared 
state of the government. Moved by these arguments, it was 
agreed that the main body of the army should march against 
Glasgow, and dislodge the soldiers who were lying in that 
town. The council nominated Henry Morton, with others, 
to this last service, and appointed Burley to the command of 
a chosen body of five hundred men, who were to remain be- 
hind for the purpose of blockading the Tower of Tillietud- 
lem. Morton testified the greatest repugnance to this ar- 
rangement. 

“He had the strongest personal motives,” he said, “for 
desiring to remain near Tillietudlem ; and if the management 
of the siege were committed to him, he had little doubt but 
that he would bring it to such an accommodation as, without 
being rigorous to the besieged, would fully answer the pur- 
pose of the besiegers.” 

Burley readily guessed the cause of his young colleague's 
reluctance to move with the army ; for, interested as he was 
in appreciating the characters with whom he had to deal, he 
had contrived, through the simplicity of Cuddie and the 
enthusiasm of old Mause, to get much information concern- 
ing Morton's relations with the family of Tillietudlem. He 
therefore took the advantage of Poundtext's arising to speak 
to business, as he said, for some short space of time (which 

233 


234 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


Burley rightly interpreted to mean an hour at the very least), 
ind seized that moment to withdraw Morton from the hear- 
ing of their colleagues, and to hold the following argument 
with him : 

“Thou art unwise, Henry Morton, to desire to sacrifice 
this holy cause to thy friendship for an un circumcised Phil- 
istine, or thy lust for a Moabitish woman.” 

“ I neither understand your meaning, Mr. Balfour, nor 
relish your allusions," replied Morton, indignantly ; “ and I 
know no reason you have to bring so gross a charge or to use 
such uncivil language." 

“Confess, however, the truth," said Balfour, “and own 
that there are those within yon dark Tower over whom thou 
wouldst rather be watching like a mother ever her little ones, 
than thou wouldst bear the banner of the Church of Scot- 
land over the necks of her enemies." 

“ If you mean that I would willingly terminate this war 
without any bloody victory, and that I am more anxious to 
do this than to acquire any personal fame or power, you may 
be," replied Morton, “perfectly right." 

“ And not wholly wrong," answered Burley, “ in deeming 
that thou wouldst not exclude from so general a pacification 
thy friends in the garrison of Tillietudlem." 

“Certainly," replied Morton; “ I am too much obliged 
to Major Bellenden not to wish to be of service to him, as 
far as the interest of the cause I have espoused will permit. 
I never made a secret of my regard for him." 

“ I am aware of that," said Burley ; “ but if thou hadst 
concealed it, I should, nevertheless, have found out thy rid- 
dle. How, hearken to my words. This Miles Bellenden hath 
means to subsist his garrison for a month." 

“ This is not the case," answered Morton ; “ we know his 
stores are hardly equal to a week's consumption." 

“ Ay, but," continued Burley, “ I have since had proof, 
of the strongest nature, that such a report was spread in the 
garrison by that wily and gray-headed Malignant, partly to 
prevail on the soldiers to submit to a diminution of their 
daily food, partly to detain us before the walls of his fortress 
until the sword should be whetted to smite and destroy us." 

“ And why was not the evidence of this laid before the 
council of war ? " said Morton. 

“ To what purpose ?" said Balfour. “ Why need we un- 
deceive Kettledrummle, Macbriar, Poundtext, and Langcale 
upon such a point ? Thyself must own, that whatever is 
told to them escapes to the host out of the mouth of the 


OLD MORTALITY 


235 


preachers at their next holding-forth. They are already dis- 
couraged by the thoughts of lying before the fort a week. 
What would be the consequence were they ordered to prepare 
for the leaguer of a month ?” 

“ But why conceal it, then, from me ? or why tell it me 
now ? and, above all, what proofs have you got of the fact ? 99 
continued Morton. 

“ There are many proofs,” replied Burley ; and he put into 
his hands a number of requisitions sent forth by Major Bel- 
lenden, with receipts on the back to various proprietors, for 
cattle, corn, meal, etc., to such an amount that the sum total 
seemed to exclude the possibility of the garrison being soon 
distressed for provisions. But Burley did not inform Morton 
of a fact which he himself knew full well, namely, that most 
of these provisions never reached the garrison, owing to the 
rapacity of the dragoons sent to collect them, who readily sold 
to one man what they took from another, and abused the 
Major’s press for stores pretty much as Sir John Falstaff did 
that of the king for men. 

“And now,” continued Balfour, observing that he had 
made the desired impression, “I have only to say that I con- 
cealed this from thee no longer than it was concealed from 
myself, for I have only received these papers this morning ; 
and I tell it unto thee now, that thou mayest go on thy way 
rejoicing, and work the great work willingly at Glasgow, being 
assured that no evil can befall thy friends in the Malignant 
party, since their fort is abundantly victualled, and I possess 
not numbers sufficient to do more against them than to pre- 
vent their sallying forth.” 

“ And why,” continued Morton, who felt an inexpressible 
reluctance to" acquiesce in Balfour’s reasoning' — “why not 
permit me to remain in the command of this smaller party, 
and march forward yourself to Glasgow ? It is the more hon- 
orable charge.” 

“And therefore, young man,” answered Burley, “have I 
labored that it should be committed to the son of Silas Mor- 
ton. I am waxing old, and this gray head has had enough of 
honor where it could be gathered by danger. I speak not of 
the frothy bubble which men call earthly fame, but the honor 
belonging to him that doth not the work negligently. But 
thy career is yet to run. Thou hast to vindicate the high 
trust which has been bestowed on thee through my assurance 
that it was dearly well-merited. At Loudon Hill thou wert 
a captive, and at the last assault it was thy part to fight under 
Cover, while I led the more open and dangerous attack ; and. 


236 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


shouldst thou now remain before these walls when there is 
active service elsewhere, trust me, that men will say that the 
son of Silas Morton hath fallen away from the paths of his 
father.” 

Stung by this last observation, to which, as a gentleman 
and soldier, he could offer no suitable reply, Morton hastily 
acquiesced in the proposed arrangement. Yet he was unable 
to divest himself of certain feelings of distrust which he in- 
voluntarily attached to the quarter from which he received 
this information. 

“ Mr. Balfour,” he said, “ let us distinctly understand each 
other. You have thought it worth your while to bestow par- 
ticular attention upon my private affairs and personal attach- 
ments ; be so good as to understand that I am as constant to 
them as to my political principles. It is possible that, during 
my absence, you may possess the power of soothing or of 
wounding those feelings. Be assured that, whatever may be 
the consequences to the issue of our present adventure, my 
eternal gratitude or my persevering resentment will attend 
the line of conduct you may adopt on such an occasion ; and 
however young and inexperienced I am, I have no doubt of 
finding friends to assist me in expressing my sentiments in 
either case.” 

“ If there be a threat implied in that denunciation,” re- 
plied Burley, coldly and haughtily, “ it had better have been 
spared. I know how to value the regard of my friends, and 
despise, from my soul, the threats of my enemies. But I will 
not take occasion of offence. Whatever happens here in your 
absence shall be managed with as much deference to your 
wishes as the duty I owe to a higher power can possibly per- 
mit.” 

With this qualified promise Morton was obliged to rest 
satisfied. 

“ Our defeat will relieve the garrison,” said he, internally, 
“ ere they can be reduced to surrender at discretion ; and, in 
case of victory, I already see, from the numbers of the Mod- 
erate party, that I shall have a voice as powerful as Burley's 
in determining the use which shall be made of it.” 

He therefore followed Balfour to the council, where they 
found Kettledrummle [Poundtext] adding to his lastly a few 
words of practical application. When these were expended, 
Morton testified his willingness to accompany the main body 
of the army, which was destined to drive the regular troops 
from Glasgow. His companions in command were named, 
and the whole received a strengthening exhortation from the 


OLD MORTALITY 


237 


preachers who were present. Next morning, at break of day, 
the insurgent army broke up from their encampment and 
marched towards Glasgow. 

It is not our intention to detail at length incidents which 
may be found in the history of the period. It is sufficient to 
say that Claverliouse and Lord Ross, learning the superior 
force which was directed against them, intrenched, or rather 
barricaded, themselves in the centre of the city, where the 
town-house and old jail w T ere situated, with the determination 
to stand the assault of the insurgents rather than to abandon 
the capital of the west of Scotland. The Presbyterians made 
their attack in two bodies, one of which penetrated into the 
city in the line of the college and cathedral church, while the 
other marched up the Gallowgate or principal access from the 
south-east. Both divisions were led by men of resolution, and 
behaved with great spirit. But the advantages of military 
skill and situation were too great for their undisciplined valor. 

Ross and Claverliouse had carefully disposed parties of 
their soldiers in houses, at the heads of the streets, and in the 
entrances of closes, as they are called, or lanes, besides those 
who were intrenched behind breastworks which reached across 
the streets. The assailants found their ranks thinned by a 
fire from invisible opponents, which they had no means of re- 
turning with effect. It was in vain that Morton and other 
leaders exposed their persons with the utmost gallantry, and 
endeavored to bring their antagonists to a close action ; their 
followers shrank from them in every direction. And yet, 
though Henry Morton was one of the very last to retire, and 
exerted himself in bringing up the rear, maintaining order in 
the retreat, and checking every attempt which the enemy 
made to improve the advantage they had gained by the re- 
pulse, he had still the mortification to hear many of those in 
his ranks muttering to each other, that “ this came of trust- 
ing to latitudinarian boys ; and that, had honest, faithful 
Burley led the attack, as he did that of the barricades of Til- 
lietudlem, the issue would have been as different as might be.” 

•It was with burning resentment that Morton heard these 
reflections thrown out by the very men who had soonest ex- 
hibited signs of discouragement. The unjust reproach, how- 
ever, had the effect of firing his emulation, and making him 
sensible that, engaged as he was in a perilous cause, it was 
absolutely necessary that he should conquer or die. 

“ I have no retreat,” he said to himself. “All shall allow 
— even Major Bellenden — even Edith — that in courage, at 
least; the rebel Morton was not inferior to his father,” 


238 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


The condition of the army after the repulse wa' so un- 
disciplined, and in such disorganization, that the leaders 
thought it prudent to draw oft* some miles from the city to 
gain time for reducing them once more into such order as 
they were capable of adopting. Kecruits, in the meanwhile, 
came fast in, more moved by the extreme hardships of their 
own condition, and encouraged by the advantage obtained at 
Loudon Hill, than deterred by the last unfortunate enterprise. 
Many of these attached themselves particularly to Morton’s 
division. He had, however, the mortification to see that his 
unpopularity among the more intolerant part of the Covenant- 
ers increased rapidly. The prudence beyond his years which 
he exhibited in improving the discipline and arrangement of 
his followers, they termed a trusting in the arm of flesh, and 
his avowed tolerance for those of religious sentiments and 
observances different from his own obtained him, most un- 
justly, the nickname of Gallio, “ who cared for none of those 
things.” What was worse than these misconceptions, the 
mob of the insurgents, always loudest in applause of those 
who push political or religious opinions to extremity, and 
disgusted with such as endeavor to reduce them to the yoke 
of discipline, preferred avowedly the more zealous leaders, in 
whose ranks enthusiasm in the cause supplied the want of 
good order and military subjection, to the restraints which 
Morton endeavored to bring them under. In short, while 
bearing the principal burden of command — for his colleagues 
willingly relinquished in his favor everything that was trou- 
blesome and obnoxious in the office of general — Morton found 
himself without that authority which alone could render his 
regulations effectual. * 

Yet, notwithstanding these obstacles, he had, during the 
course of a few days, labored so hard to introduce some 
degree of discipline into the army, that he thought he might 
hazard a second attack upon Glasgow with every prospect of 
success. 

It cannot be doubted that Morton’s anxiety to measure 
himself with Colonel Grahame of Claverhouse, at whose hands 
he had sustained such injury, had its share in giving motive 
to his uncommon exertions. But Claverhouse disappointed 
his hopes ; for, satisfied with having the advantage in repuls- 
ing the first attack upon Glasgow, he determined that he 
would not, with the handful of troops under his command, 
await a second assault from the insurgents, with more numer- 
ous and better disciplined forces than had supported their 

* See Dissensions among the Covenanters. Note 25, 


OLD MORTALITY 


239 


first enterprise. He therefore evacuated the place, and 
marched at the head of his troops towards Edinburgh. The 
insurgents of course entered Glasgow without resistance and 
without Morton having the opportunity, which he so deeply 
coveted, of again encountering Claverhouse personally. But, 
although he had not an opportunity of wiping away the dis- 
grace which had befallen his division of the army of the Cove- 
nant, the retreat of Claverhouse, and the possession of Glas- 
gow, tended greatly to animate the insurgent army, and to 
increase its numbers. The necessity of appointing new of- 
ficers, of organizing new regiments and squadrons, of making 
them acquainted with at least the most necessary points of 
military discipline, were labors which, by universal consent, 
seemed to be devolved upon Henry Morton, and which he the 
more readily undertook, because his father had made him ac- 
quainted with the theory of the military art, and became he 
plainly saw that, unless he took this ungracious but abso- 
lutely necessary labor, it was vain to expect any other to en- 
gage in it. 

In the meanwhile, fortune appeared to favor the enter- 
prise of the insurgents more than the most sanguine durst 
have expected. The privy council of Scotland, astonished at 
the extent of resistance which their arbitrary measures had pro- 
voked, seemed stupefied with terror, and incapable of taking 
active steps to subdue the resentment which these measures 
had excited. There were but very few troops in Scotland, 
and these they drew towards Edinburgh, as if to form an 
army for protection of the metropolis. The feudal array of 
the crown vassals in the various counties was ordered to take 
the field, and render to the king the military service due for 
their fiefs. But the summons was very slackly obeyed. The 
quarrel was not generally popular among the gentry ; and 
even those who were not unwilling themselves to have taken 
arms were deterred by the repugnance of their wives, mothers, 
and sisters to their engaging in such a cause. 

Meanwhile, the inadequacy of the Scottish government to 
provide for their own defence, or to put down a rebellion of 
which the commencement seemed so trifling, excited at the 
English court doubts at once of their capacity and of the pru- 
dence of the severities they had exerted against the oppressed 
Presbyterians. It was, therefore, resolved to nominate to the 
command of the army of Scotland the unfortunate Duke of 
Monmouth, who had by marriage a great interest, large estate, 
and a numerous following, as it was called, in the southern 
parts of that kingdom. The military skill which he had dis- 


240 


WAVmLEY NOVELS 


played on different occasions abroad was supposed more than 
adequate to subdue the insurgents in the field ; while it was 
expected that his mild temper, and the favorable disposition 
which he showed to Presbyterians in general, might soften 
men's minds and tend to reconcile them to the government. 
The Duke was, therefore, invested with a commission, con- 
taining high powers for settling the distracted affairs of Scot- 
land, and despatched from London with strong succors to take 
the principal military command in that country. 


CHAPTER XXYII 


I am bound to Bothwell Hill, 

Where I maun either do or die. 

Old Ballad. 

There was now a pause in the military movements on both 
sides. The go vernment seemed contented to prevent the rebels 
advancing towards the capital, while the insurgents were in- 
tent upon augmenting and strengthening their forces. For 
this purpose they established a sort of encampment in the 
park belonging to the ducal residence at Hamilton, a cen- 
trical situation for receiving their recruits, and where they 
were secured from any sudden attack by having the Clyde, a 
deep and rapid river, in front of their position, which is only 
passable by a long and narrow bridge, near the castle and vil- 
lage of Bothwell. 

Morton remained here for about a fortnight after the at- 
tack on Glasgow, actively engaged in his military duties. He 
had received more than one communication from Burley ; but 
they only stated, in general, that the Castle of Tillietudlem 
continued to holdout. Impatient of suspense upon this most 
interesting subject, he at length intimated to his colleagues 
in command his desire, or rather his intention — for he saw 
no reason why he should not assume a license which was taken 
by every one else in this disorder^ army — to go to Milnwood 
for a day or two to arrange some private affairs of consequence. 
The proposal was by no means approved of ; for the military 
council of the insurgents were sufficiently sensible of the value 
of his services to fear to lose them, and felt somewhat con- 
scious of their own inability to supply his place. They could 
not, however, pretend to dictate to him laws more rigid than 
they submitted to themselves, and he was suffered to depart 
on his journey without any direct objection being stated. 
The Reverend Mr. Poundtext took the same opportunity to 
pay a visit to his own residence in the neighborhood of Miln- 
wood, and favored Morton with his company on the journey. 
As the country was chiefly friendly to their cause, and in 
possession of their detached parties, excepting here and there 

m 


m 


WAVE RLE Y NOVELS 


the stronghold of some old Cavaliering baron, they travelled 
without any other attendant than the faithful Cuddie. 

It was near sunset when they reached Milnwood, where 
Poundtext bid adieu to his companions, and travelled forward 
alone to his own manse, which was situated half a mile's march 
beyond Tillietudlem. When Morton was left alone to his own 
reflections, with what a complication of feelings did he review 
the woods, banks, and fields that had been familiar to him l 
His character, as well as his habits, thoughts, and occupations, 
had been entirely changed within the space of little more than 
a fortnight, and twenty days seemed to have done upon him 
the work of as many years. A mild, romantic, gentle-tempered 
youth, bred up in dependence, and stooping patiently to the 
control of a sordid and tyrannical relation, had suddenly, by the 
rod of oppression and the spur of injured feeling, been compelled 
to stand forth a leader of armed men, was earnestly engaged in 
affairs of a public nature, had friends to animate and enemies 
to contend with, and felt his individual fate bound up in that 
of a national insurrection and revolution. It seemed as if he 
had at once experienced a transition from the romantic dreams 
of youth to the labors and cares of active manhood. All that 
had formerly interested him was obliterated from his memory, 
excepting only his attachment to Edith ; and even his love 
seemed to have assumed a character more manly and disin- 
terested, as it had become mingled and contrasted with other 
duties and feelings. As he revolved the particulars of this 
sudden change, the circumstances in which it originated, and 
the possible consequences of his present career, the thrill of 
natural anxiety which passed along his mind was immediately 
banished by a glow of generous and high-spirited confidence. 

“ I shall fall young," he said, “ if fall I must, my motives 
misconstrued and my actions condemned by those whose ap- 
probation is dearest to me. But the sword of liberty and 
patriotism is in my hand, and I will neither fall meanly nor 
unavenged. They may expose my body and gibbet my limbs ; 
but other days will come, when the sentence of infamy will 
recoil against those who may pronounce it. And that Heaven 
whose name is so often profaned during this unnatural war 
will bear witness to the purity of the motives by which I have 
been guided." 

Upon approaching Milnwood, Henry's knock upon the gate 
no longer intimated the conscious timidity of a stripling who 
has been out of bounds, but the confidence of a man in full 
possession of his own rights, and master of his own actions — 
bold, free, and decided. The door was cautiously opened by 


OLD MORTALITY 


243 


his old acquaintance, Mrs. Alison Wilson, who started back 
when she saw the steel cap and nodding plume of the martial 
visitor. 

“ Where is my uncle, Alison ?” said Morton, smiling at 
her alarm. 

“Lordsake, Mr. Harry ! is this you ?” returned the old 
lady. “ In troth, ye garr'd my heart loup to my very mouth. 
But it canna be your ainsell, for ye look taller and mair manly- 
like than ye used to do.” 

“It is, however, my own self,” said Henry, sighing and 
smiling at the same time. “ I believe this dress may make 
me look taller, and these times, Ailie, make men out of boys.” 

“Sad times indeed !” echoed the old woman; “and 0 
that you suld been dangered wi' them ! But wha can help 
it ? ye were ill eneugh guided, and, as I tell your uncle, if ye 
tread on a worm it will turn.” 

“You were always my advocate, Ailie,” said he, and the 
housekeeper no longer resented the familiar epithet, “and 
would let no one blame me but yourself, I am aware of that. 
Where is my uncle ?” 

“ In Edinburgh,” replied Alison ; “ the honest man thought 
it was best to gang and sit by the cliimley when the reek rase. 
A vex'd man he's been and a feared — but ye ken the Laird as 
weel as I do.” 

“ I hope he has suffered nothing in health ? ” said Henry. 

“Haething to speak of,” answered the housekeeper, “ nor 
in gudes neither ; we fended as weel as we could ; and, though 
the troopers of Tillietudlem took the red cow and auld 
Hackie — ye'll mind them weel — yet they sauld us a gude bar- 
gain o' four they were driving to the Castle.” 

“Sold you a bargain?” said Morton; “how do you 
mean ?” 

“ Ou, they cam out to gather marts for the garrison,” 
answered the housekeeper ; “ but they just fell to their auld. 
trade, and rade through the country couping and selling a' 
that they gat, like sae mony west-country drovers. My cer- 
tie. Major Bellenden was laird o' the least share o' what they 
lifted, though it was taen in his name.” 

“Then,” said Morton, hastily, “the garrison must be 
straitened for provisions ?” 

“ Stressed eneugh,” replied Ailie, “there's little doubW 
that.” 

A light instantly glanced on Morton's mind. 

“ Burley must have deceived me; craft as well as cruelty 
is permitted by his creed.” Such was his inward thought ; h§ 


244 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


said aloud* “ I cannot stay* Mrs. Wilson ; I must go forward 
directly.” 

“ But, oh ! bide to eat a mouthful” entreated the affec- 
tionate housekeeper, “ and I'll mak it ready for you as I used 
to do afore thae sad days.” 

“ It is impossible,” answered Morton. “ Cuddie, get our 
horses ready.” 

“ They're just eating their corn,” answered the attendant. 

“ Cuddie ! ” exclaimed Ailie ; “ what garr’d ye bring that 
ill-faur’d, unlucky loon alang wi' ye ? It was him and his 
randie mother began a' the mischief in this house.” 

“ Tut, tut,” replied Cuddie, “ ye should forget and forgie, 
mistress. Mither's in Glasgow wi' her tittie, and sail plague 
ye nae mair ; and I'm the Captain's wallie now, and I keep 
him tighter in thack and rape than ever ye did ; saw ye him 
ever sae weel put on as he is now ? ” 

“In troth and that's true,” said the old housekeeper, look- 
ing with great complacency at her young master, whose mien 
she thought much improved by his dress. “ I'm sure ye ne'er 
had a laced cravat like that when ye were at Milnwood ; that's 
nane o' my sewing.” 

“ Na, na, mistress,” replied Cuddie, “ that's a cast o' my 
hand ; that's ane o' Lord Evandale's braws.” 

“Lord Evandale !” answered the old lady, “that's him 
that the Whigs are gaun to hang the morn, as I hear say.” 

“The Whigs about to hang Lord Evandale ?” said Mor- 
ton, in the greatest surprise. 

“ Ay, troth are they,” said the housekeeper. “ Yesterday 
night he made a sally, as they ca't — my mother's name was 
Sally ; I wonder they gie Christian folks' names to sic unchris- 
tian doings — but he made an outbreak to get provisions, and 
his men were driven back and he was taen , an' the Whig Cap- 
tain Balfour garr'd set up a gallows, and swore — or said upon 
his conscience, for they winna swear — that if the garrison was 
not gien ower the morn by daybreak, he would hing up the 
young lord, poor thing, as high as Haman. These are sair 
times ! but folk canna help them, sae do ye sit down and tak 
bread and cheese until better meat's made ready. Ye suldna 
hae kenn'd a word about it* an I had thought it was to spoil 
your dinner, hinny.” 

“Fed or unfed,” exclaimed Morton, “saddle the horses 
instantly* Cuddie. We must not rest until we get before the 
Castle.” 

And, resisting all Ailie's entreaties* they instantly resumed 
their journey. 


OLD MORTALITY 


245 


Morton failed not to halt at the dwelling of Poundtext and 
summon him to attend him to the camp. That honest divine 
had just resumed for an instant his pacific habits, and was 
perusing an ancient theological treatise, with a pipe in hi-s 
mouth and a small jug of ale beside him, to assist his diges- 
tion of the argument. It was with bitter ill-will that he re- 
linquished these comforts, which he called his studies, in' order 
to recommence a hard ride upon a high-trotting horse. How- 
ever, when he knew the matter in hand, he gave up, with a 
deep groan, the prospect of spending a quiet evening in his 
own little parlor ; for he entirely agreed with Morton that, 
whatever interest Burley might have in rendering the breach 
between the Presbyterians and the government irreconcilable, 
by putting the young nobleman to death, it was by no means 
that of the Moderate party to permit such an act of atrocity. 
And it is but doing justice to Mr. Poundtext to add that, like 
most of his own persuasion, he was decidedly adverse to any 
such acts of unnecessary violence ; besides, that his own pres- 
ent feelings induced him to listen with much complacence to 
the probability held out by Morton of Lord Evandale’s be- 
coming a mediator for the establishment of peace upon fair 
and moderate terms. With this similarity of views, they 
hastened their journey, and arrived about eleven o’clock at 
night at a small hamlet adjacent to the Castle of Tillietudlem, 
where Burley had established his headquarters. 

They were challenged by the sentinel, who made his mel- 
ancholy walk at the entrance of the hamlet, and admitted upon 
declaring their names and authority in the army. Another 
soldier kept watch before a house, which they conjectured to 
be the place of Lord Evandale’s confinement, for a gibbet * 
of such great height as to be visible from the battlements of 
the Castle was erected before it, in melancholy confirmation 
of the truth of Mrs. Wilson’s report. Morton instantly de- 
manded to speak with Burley, and was directed to his quar- 
ters. They found him reading the Scriptures, with his arms 
lying beside him, as if ready for any sudden alarm. He started 
upon the entrance of his colleagues in office. 

“What has brought ye hither?” said Burley, hastily. 
“ Is there bad news from the army ? ” 

“No,” replied Morton ; “but we understand that there 
are measures adopted here in which the safety of the army is 
deeply concerned. Lord Evandale is your prisoner ? ” 

“ The Lord,” replied Burley, “ hath delivered him into 
our hands,” 

* gee The Cameronians’ Gibbet. Note 26. 


246 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


“ And you will avail yourself of that advantage, granted 
you by Heaven, to dishonor our cause in the eyes of all the 
world, by putting a prisoner to an ignominious death ? ” 

“If the house of Tillietudlem be not surrendered by day- 
break/’ replied Burley, “ G-od do so to me and more also, if 
he shall not die that death to which his leader and patron, 
John Grahame of Claverhouse, hath put so many of God’s 
saints.” 

“ We are in arms,” replied Morton, “ to put down such 
cruelties, and not to imitate them, far less to avenge upon the 
innocent the acts of the guilty. By what law can you justify 
the atrocity you would commit ? ” 

“If thou art ignorant of it,” replied Burley, “thy com- 
panion is well aware of the law which gave the men of Jericho 
to the sword of Joshua, the son of Nun.” 

“ But we,” answered the divine, “ live under a better dis- 
pensation, which instructeth us to return good for evil, and 
to pray for those who despitefully use us and persecute us.” 

“ That is to say,” said Burley, “that thou wilt join thy 
gray hairs to his green youth to controvert me in this matter ? ” 

“ We are,” rejoined Poundtext, “two of those to whom, 
jointly with thyself, authority is delegated over this host, and 
we will not permit thee to hurt a hair of the prisoner’s head. 
It may please God to make him a means of healing these un- 
happy breaches in our Israel.” 

“ I judged it would come to this,” answered Burley, “ when 
such as thou wert called into the council of the elders.” 

“ Such as I !” answered Poundtext. “And who am I, 
that you should name me with such scorn ? Have I not kept 
the flock of this sheepfold from the wolves for thirty years ? 
Ay, even while thou, John Balfour, wert fightingin the ranks 
of uncircumcision, a Philistine of hardened brow and bloody 
hand. Who am I, say’st thou ?” 

“I will tell thee what thou art, since thou wouldst so fain 
know,” said Burley. “ Thou art one of those who would reap 
where thou hast not sowed, and divide the spoil while others 
fight the battle ; thou art one of those that follow the Gospel 
for the loaves and for the fishes, that love their own manse better 
than the church of God, and that would rather draw their sti- 
pends under Prelatists or heathens than be a partaker with those 
noble spirits who have cast all behind them for the sake of the 
Covenant.” 

“ And I will tell thee, John Balfour,” returned Poundtext, 
deservedly incensed — “I will tell thee what thou art. Thou 
art owe of those for whose bloody and merciless disposition a 


OLD MORTALITY 


247 


reproach is flung upon the whole church of this suffering king- 
dom, and for whose violence and blood-guiltiness, it is to be 
feared, this fair attempt to recover our civil and religious 
rights will never be honored by Providence with the desired 
success.” 

“ Gentlemen,” said Morton, “ cease this irritating and un- 
availing recrimination ; and do you, Mr. Balfour, inform us 
whether it is your purpose to oppose the liberation of Lord 
Evandale, which appears to us a profitable measure in the present 
position of our affairs ? ” 

“ You are here,” answered Burley, “as two voices against 
one, but you will not refuse to tarry until the united council 
shall decide upon this matter ?” 

“This,” said Morton, “we would not decline if we could 
trust the hands in whom we are to leave the prisoner. But 
you know well,” he added, looking sternly at Burley, “ that 
you have already deceived me in this matter.” 

“ Go to,” said Burley, disdainfully, “thou art an idle, in- 
considerate boy, who, for the black eyebrows of a silly girl, 
would barter thy own faith and honor, and the cause of God 
and of thy country.” 

“Mr. Balfour,” said Morton, laying his hand on his sword, 
“this language requires satisfaction.” 

“ And thou shalt have it, stripling, when and where thou 
darest,” said Burley; “I plight thee my good word on it.” 

Poundtext, in his turn, interfered to remind them of the 
madness of quarrelling, and effected with difficulty a sort of 
sullen reconciliation. 

“Concerning the prisoner,” said Burley, “ deal with him 
as ye think fit. I wash my hands free from all consequences. 
He is my prisoner, made by my sword and spear, while you, 
Mr. Morton, were playing the adjutant at drills and parades, 
and you, Mr. Poundtext, were warping the Scriptures into 
Erastianism. Take him unto yon, nevertheless, and dispose 
of him as ye think meet. Dingwall,” he continued, calling a 
sort of aide-de-camp who slept in the next apartment, “let 
the guard posted on the Malignant Evandale give up their 
post to those whom Captain Morton shall appoint to relieve 
them. The prisoner,” he said, again addressing Poundtext 
and Morton, “is now at your disposal, gentlemen. But re- 
member that for all these things there will one day come a 
term of heavy accounting.” 

So saying, he turned abruptly into an inner apartment 
without bidding them good evening. His two visitors, after 
a moment's consideration, agreed it would be prudent to in- 


248 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


sure the prisoners personal safety by placing over him an 
additional guard, chosen from their own parishioners. A 
band of them happened to be stationed in the hamlet, having 
been attached for the time to Burley's command, in order that 
the men might be gratified by remaining as long as possible 
near to their own homes. They were, in general, smart, 
active young fellows, and were usually called by their com- 
panions the Marksmen of Milnwood. By Morton's desire, 
four of these lads readily undertook the task of sentinels, and 
he left with them Headrigg, on whose fidelity he could de- 
pend, with instructions to call him if anything remarkable 
happened. 

This arrangement being made, Morton and his colleague 
took possession for the night of such quarters as the over- 
crowded and miserable hamlet could afford them. They did 
not, however, separate for repose till they had drawn up a 
memorial of the grievances of the Moderate Presbyterians, 
which was summed up with a request of free toleration for 
their religion in future, and that they should be permitted to 
attend G-ospel ordinances as dispensed by their own clergymen, 
without oppression or molestation. Their petition proceeded 
to require that a free parliament should be called for settling 
the affairs of Church and State, and for redressing the injuries 
sustained by the subject ; and that all those who either now 
were or had been in arms for obtaining these ends should be 
indemnified. Morton could not but strongly hope that these 
terms, which comprehended all that was wanted, or wished 
for, by the Moderate party among the insurgents, might, when 
thus cleared of the violence of fanaticism, find advocates even 
among the Royalists, as claiming only the ordinary rights of 
Scottish freemen. 

He had the more confidence of a favorable reception, that 
the Duke of Monmouth, to whom Charles had intrusted the 
charge of subduing this rebellion, was a man of gentle, mod- 
erate, and accessible disposition, w r ell known to be favorable 
to the Presbyterians, and invested by the king with full powers 
to take measures for quieting the disturbances in Scotland. 
It seemed to Morton that all that was necessary for influ- 
encing him in their favor was to find a fit and sufficiently re- 
spectable channel of communication, and such seemed to* be 
opened through the medium of Lord Evandale. He resolved, 
therefore, to visit the prisoner early in the morning, in order 
to sound his dispositions to undertake the task of mediator ; 
but an accident happened which led him to anticipate his 
purpose. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


Gie ower your house, lady, he said, — 

Gie ower your house to me. 

Edom of Gordon. 

Morton had finished the revisal and the making out of a fair 
copy of the paper on which he and Poundtext had agreed to 
rest as a full statement of the grievances of their part} r , and 
the conditions on which the greater part of the insurgents 
would be contented to lay down their arms ; and he was about 
to betake himself to repose, when there was a knocking at the 
door of his apartment. 

“Enter/" said Morton; and the round bullet-head of 
Cuddie Headrigg was thrust into the room. “ Come in/" said 
Morton, “ and tell me what you want. Is there any alarm ?"" 

“Na, stir ; but I hae brought ane to speak wi" you."" 

“Who is that, Cuddie ?"" inquired Morton. 

“ Ane o" your auld acquaintance/" said Cuddie ; and open- 
ing the door more fully, he half led, half dragged in a woman, 
whose face was muffled in her plaid. “ Come, come, ye needna 
be sae bashfu" before auld acquaintance, Jenny/" said Cuddie, 
pulling down the veil, and discovering to his master the well- 
remembered countenance of Jenny Dennison. “Tell his 
honor, now, there"s a braw lass — tell him what ye were want- 
ing to say to Lord Evandale, mistress."" 

“What was I wanting to say/" answered Jenny, “to his 
honor liimsell the other morning, when I visited him in cap- 
tivity, ye muckle hash ? D"ye think that folk dinna want to 
see their friends in adversity, ye dour crowdy-eater ?"" 

This reply was made with Jenny"s usual volubility ; but 
her voice quivered, her cheek was thin and pale, the tears 
stood in her eyes, her hand trembled, her manner was flut- 
tered, and her whole presence bore marks of recent suffering 
and privation, as well as nervous and hysterical agitation. 

“What is the matter, Jenny?"" said Morton, kindly. 
“ You know how much I owe you in many respects, and can 
hardly make a request that I will not grant, if in my power."" 

“Many thanks, Milnwood/" said the weeping damsel; 

249 


250 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


“but ye were aye a kind gentleman, thonghfolk say ye hae 
become sair changed now.” 

“ What do they say of me ?” answered Morton. 

“ A’body says,” replied Jenny, “that you and the Whigs 
hae made a vow to ding King Charles aft the throne, and 
that neither he, nor his posteriors from generation to genera- 
tion, shall sit upon it ony mair; and John Gudyill threeps 
ye’re to gie a’ the church organs to the pipers, and burn the 
Book o’ Common Prayer by the hands of the common hang- 
man, in revenge of the Covenant that was burnt when the 
King cam hame.” 

“ My friends at Tillietudlem judge too hastily and too ill 
of me,” answered Morton. “ I wish to have free exercise of 
my own religion, without insulting any other ; and as to your 
family, I only desire an opportunity to show them I have the 
same friendship and kindness as ever.” 

“Bless your kind heart for saying sae,”said Jenny, burst- 
ing into a flood of tears ; “ and they never needed kindness 
or friendship mair, for they are famished for lack o’ food.” 

“ Good God !” replied Morton, “I have heard of scarcity, 
but not of famine. Is it possible ? Have the ladies and the 
Major ” 

“ They hae suffered like the lave o’ us,” replied Jenny ; 
“for they shared every bit and sup wi’ the whole folk in the 
Castle. I’m sure my poor een see fifty colors wi’ faintness, 
and my head’s sae dizzy wi’ the mirligoes that I canna stand 
my lane.” 

The thinness of the poor girl’s cheek, and the sharpness 
of her features, bore witness to the truth of what she said. 
Morton was greatly shocked. 

“ Sit down,” he said, “for God’s sake !” forcing her into 
the only chair the apartment afforded, while he himself strode 
up and down the room in horror and impatience. “ I knew 
not of this,” he exclaimed, in broken ejaculations — “ I could 
not know of it. Cold-blooded, iron-hearted fanatic — deceit- 
ful villain ! Cuddie, fetch refreshments — food — wine, if pos- 
sible — whatever you can find.” 

“ Whiskey is gude eneugh for her,” muttered Cuddie ; 
“ ane wadna hae thought that gude meal was sae scant amang 
them, when the quean threw sae muckle gude kail-brose 
scalding het about my lugs.” 

Faint and miserable as Jenny seemed to be, she could not 
hear the allusion to her exploit during the storm of the Castle 
without bursting into a laugh, which weakness soon converted 
into an hysterical giggle. Confounded at her state, and reflect- 


OLD MORTALITY 


251 


ing with horror on the distress which must have been in the 
Castle, Morton repeated his commands to Headrigg in a per- 
emptory manner ; and when he had departed, endeavored to 
soothe his visitor. 

y You come, I suppose, by the orders of your mistress, to 
visit Lord Evandale ? Tell me what she desires ; her orders 
shall be my law.” 

Jenny appeared to reflect a moment, and then said, “ Your 
honor is sae auld a friend, I must needs trust to you, and tell 
the truth.” 

“ Be assured, Jenny,” said Morton, observing that she hesi- 
tated, “ that you will best serve your mistress by dealing sin- 
cerely with me.” 

“Weel, then, ye maun ken we're starving, as I said be- 
fore, and have been mair days than ane ; and the Major has 
sworn that he expects relief daily, and that he will not gie 
ower the house to the enemy till we have eaten up his auld 
boots — and they are unco thick in the soles, as ye may weel 
mind, forbye being teugh in the upper-leather. The dra- 
goons, again, they think they will be forced to gie up at last, 
and they canna bide hunger weel, after the life they led at 
free quarters for this while bypast ; and since Lord Evan- 
dale's taen, there's nae guiding them ; and Inglis says he'll 
gie up the garrison to the Whigs, and the Major and the led- 
dies into the bargain, if they will but let the troopers gang 
free themsells.” 

“Scoundrels!” said Morton; “why do they not make 
terms for all in the Castle ? ” 

“ They are fear'd for denial o' quarter to themsells, hav- 
ing dune sae muckle mischief through the country ; and Bur- 
ley has hanged ane or twa o' them already ; sae they want to 
draw their ain necks out o' the collar at hazard o' honest 
folks'.” 

“And you were sent,” continued Morton, “to carry 
to Lord Evandale the unpleasant news of the men's mu- 
tiny ? " 

“ Just e'en sae,” said Jenny ; “ Tam Halliday took the 
rue, and tauld me a' about it, and gat me out o' the Castle to 
tell Lord Evandale, if possibly I could win at him.” . 

“ But how can he help you ? ” said Morton ; “ he is a pris- 
oner.” 

“Well-a-day, ay,” answered the afflicted damsel; “hut 
maybe he could mak fair terms for us ; or maybe lie could 
gie us some good advice ; or maybe he might send his orders 
to the dragoons to be civil ; or ” 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


m 


“Or maybe," said Morton, “you were to try if it were 
possible to set him at liberty ? " 

“If it were sae," answered Jenny, with spirit, “it wadna 
be the first time I hae done my best to serve a friend in 
captivity." 

“ True, Jenny," replied Morton, “ I were most ungrateful 
to forget it. But here comes Cuddie with refreshments ; I 
will go and do your errand to Lord Evandale while you take 
some food and wine." 

“ It willna be amiss ye should ken," said Cuddie to his 
master, “ that this Jenny — this Mrs. Dennison — was trying to 
cuittle favor wh Tam Rand, the miller’s man, to win into Lord 
Evandalt/s room without onybody kennin\ She wasna think- 
ing, the gypsy, that I was at her elbow." 

“ And an unco fright ye gao me when ye cam ahint and 
took a grip o’ me," said Jenny, giving him a sly twitch with 
her finger and her thumb; “ if ye hadna been an auld acquaint- 
ance, ye daft gomeril " 

Cuddie, somewhat relenting, grinned a smile on his artful 
mistress, while Morton wrapped himself up in his cloak, took 
his sword under his arm, and went straight to the place of 
the young noblemaiTs confinement. He asked the sentinels if 
anything extraordinary had occurred." 

“ Nothing worth notice," they said, “ excepting the lass 
that Cuddie took up, and two couriers that Captain Balfour 
had despatched, one to the Reverend Ephraim Macbriar, 
another to Kettledrummle," both of whom were beating the 
drum ecclesiastic in different towns between the position of 
Burley and the headquarters of the main army near Hamilton. 

“ The purpose, I presume," said Morton, with an affecta- 
tion of indifference, “ was to call them hither." 

“ So I understand," answered the sentinel, who had spoke 
with the messengers. 

“ He is summoning a triumphant majority of the council," 
thought Morton to himself, “ for the purpose of sanctioning 
whatever action of atrocity he may determine upon, and 
thwarting opposition by authority. I must be speedy, or I 
shall lose my opportunity." 

When he entered the place of Lord Evandale's confine- 
ment, he found him ironed, and reclining on a flock bed in 
the wretched garret of a miserable cottage. He was either in 
a slumber or in deep meditation when Morton entered, and 
turned on him, when aroused, a countenance so much reduced 
by loss of blood, want of sleep, and scarcity of food, that no 
one could have recognized in it the gallant soldier who had 


253 


OLD MORTALITY 

behaved with so much spirit at the skirmish of Loudon Hill. 
He displayed some surprise at the sudden entrance of Morton. 

“I am sorry to see you thus, my lord/" said that youthful 
leader. 

“I have heard you are an admirer of poetry,” answered 
the prisoner ; “ in that case, Mr. Morton, you may remember 
these lines — 

“ Stone walls do not a prison make, 

Or iron bars a cage ; 

A free and quiet mind can take 
These for a hermitage. 

But were my imprisonment less endurable, I am given to 
expect to-morrow a total enfranchisement.” 

“ By death ? ” said Morton. 

“ Surely,” answered Lord Evandale ; “ I have no other 
prospect. Your comrade, Burley, has already dipped his 
hand in the blood of men whose meanness of rank and ob- 
scurity of extraction might have saved them. I cannot boast 
such a shield from his vengeance, and I expect to meet its 
extremity.” 

“ But Major Bellenden,” said Morton, “ may surrender 
in order to preserve your life.” 

“ Never, while there is one man to defend the battlement, 
and that man has one crust to eat. I know his gallant resolu- 
tion, and grieved should I be if he changed it for my sake.” 

Morton hastened to acquaint him with the mutiny among 
the dragoons, and their resolution to surrender the Castle, 
and put the ladies of the family, as well as the Major, into 
the hands of the enemy. Lord Evandale seemed at first sur- 
prised and something incredulous, but immediately afterwards 
deeply affected. 

“ What is to be done ?” he said. “How is this misfor- 
tune to be averted ? ” 

“Hear me, my lord,” said Morton. “I believe you may 
not be unwilling to bear the olive branch between our master 
the King and that part of his subjects which is now inarms, 
not from choice but necessity.” 

“ You construe me but justly,” said Lord Evandale ; “but 
to what does this tend ? ” 

“ Permit me, my lord ” continued Morton. “ I will 

set you at liberty upon parole ; nay, you may return to the 
Castle, and shall have a safe-conduct for the ladies, the 
Major, and all who leave it, on condition of its instant sur- 
render. In contributing to bring this about you will only 


m 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


submit to circumstances ; for, with a mutiny in the garrison, 
and without provisions, it will be found impossible to defend 
the place twenty-four hours longer. Those, therefore, who 
refuse to accompany your lordship must take their fate. You 
and your followers shall have a free pass to Edinburgh, or 
wherever the Duke of Monmouth may be. In return for 
your liberty, we hope that you will recommend to the notice 
of his Grace, as Lieutenant-General of Scotland, this humble 
petition and remonstrance, containing the grievances which 
have occasioned this insurrection, a redress of which being 
granted, I will answer with my head that the great body of 
the insurgents will lay down their arms.” 

Lord Evandale read over the paper with attention. 

“ Mr. Morton,” he said, “ in my simple judgment I see 
little objection that can be made to the measures here recom- 
mended ; nay, further, I believe, in many respects, they may 
meet the private sentiments of the Duke of Monmouth ; and 
yet, to deal frankly with you, I have no hopes of their being 
granted, unless, in the first place, you were to lay down your 
arms.” 

“ The doing so,” answered Morton, “ would be virtually 
conceding that we had no right to take them up ; and that, 
for one, I will never agree to.” 

“ Perhaps it is hardly to be expected you should,” said^ 
Lord Evandale ; “ and yet on that point I am certain the nego- 
tiations will be wrecked. I am willing, however, having 
frankly told you my opinion, to do all in my power to bring 
about a reconciliation.” 

“It is all we can wish or expect,” replied Morton ; “ the 
issue is in God's hands, who disposes the hearts of princes. 
You accept, then, the safe-conduct ?” 

“ Certainly,” answered Lord Evandale ; “and if I do not 
enlarge upon the obligation incurred by your having saved my 
life a second time, believe that I do not feel it the less.” 

“ And the garrison of Tillietudlem ? ” said Morton. 

“ Shall be withdrawn as you propose, "answered the young 
nobleman. “ I am sensible the Major will be unable to bring 
the mutineers to reason ; and I tremble to think of the conse- 
quences, should the ladies and the brave old man be delivered 
up to this bloodthirsty ruffian, Burley.” 

“You are in that case free,” said Morton. “ Prepare to 
mount on horseback ; a few men whom I can trust shall at- 
tend you till you are in safety from our parties.” 

Leaving Lord Evandale in great surprise and joy at this 
unexpected deliverance, Morton hastened to get a few chosen 


OLD MORTALITY 


255 


men under arms and on horseback, each rider holding the 
rein of a spare horse. Jenny, who, while she partook of her 
refreshment, had contrived to make up her breach with Cud- 
die, rode on the left hand of that valiant cavalier. The tramp 
cf their horses was soon heard under the window of Lord 
Evandale’s prison. Two men whom he did not know entered 
the apartment, disencumbered him of his fetters, and, con- 
ducting him downstairs, mounted him in the centre of the 
detachment. They set out at a round trot towards Tillie- 
tudlem. 

The moonlight was giving way to the dawn when they 
approached that ancient fortress, and its dark massive tower 
had just received the first pale coloring of the morning. The 
party halted at the Tower barrier, not venturing to approach 
nearer for fear of the fire of the place. Lord Evandale alone 
rode up to the gate, followed at a distance by Jenny Denni- 
son. As they approached the gate, there was heard to arise 
in the courtyard a tumult which accorded ill w 7 ith the quiet 
serenity of a summer dawn. Cries and oaths were heard, a 
pistol-shot or two were discharged, and everything announced 
that the mutiny had broken out. At this crisis Lord Evan- 
dale arrived at the gate where Halliday was sentinel. On 
hearing Lord Evand ale’s voice he instantly and gladly ad- 
mitted him, and that nobleman arrived among the mutinous 
troopers like a man dropped from the clouds. They were in 
the act of putting their design into execution, of seizing the 
place into their own hands, and were about to disarm and 
overpower Major Bellenden and Harrison, and others of the 
Castle, who were offering the best resistance in their power. 

The appearance of Lord Evandale changed the scene. He 
seized Inglis by the collar, and, upbraiding him with his vil- 
lany, ordered two of his comrades to seize and bind him, 
assuring the others that their only chance of impunity con- 
sisted in instant submission. He then ordered the men into 
their ranks. They obeyed. He commanded them to ground 
their arms. They hesitated ; but the instinct of discipline, 
joined to their persuasion that the authority of their officer, so 
boldly exerted, must be supported by some forces without the 
gate, induced them to submit. 

“ Take away those arms,” said Lord Evandale to the peo- 
ple of the Castle ; “ they shall not be restored until these 
men know better the use for which they are intrusted with 
diem. And now,” he continued, addressing the mutineers, 
“ begone ! Make the best use of your time, and of a truce of 
three hour.*, which the enemy are contented to allow you. 


25(5 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


Take the road to Edinburgh, and meet me at the House of 
Muir. I need not bid you beware of committing violence by 
the way ; you will not, in your present condition, provoke re- 
sentment for your own sakes. Let your punctuality show 
that you mean to atone for this morning’s business.” 

The disarmed soldiers shrank in silence from the presence 
of their officer, and, leaving the Castle, took the road to the 
place of rendezvous, making such haste as was inspired by the 
fear of meeting with some detached party of the insurgents, 
whom their present defenceless condition, and their former 
violence, might inspire with thoughts of revenge. Inglis, 
whom Evandale destined for punishment, remained in custody. 

iduct, and assured of succeed- 



These arrangements being 


hastily made. Lord Evandale accosted the Major, before 
whose eyes the scene had seemed to pass like the change of a 
dream. 

“ My dear Major, we must give up the place.” 

“ Is it even so ?” said Major Bellenden. “ I was in hopes 
you had brought reinforcements and supplies.” 

“ Not a man — not a pound of meal,” answered Lord Evan- 
dale. 

“ Yet I am blithe to see you,” returned the honest Major ; 
“ we were informed yesterday that these psalm-singing rascals 
had a plot on your life, and I had mustered the scoundrelly 
dragoons ten minutes ago in order to beat up Burley’s quarters 
and get you out of limbo, when the dog Inglis, instead of 
obeying me, broke out into open mutiny. But what is to be 
done now ? ” 

“ I have myself no choice,” said Lord Evandale ; a Iama 
prisoner, released on parole, and bound for Edinburgh. You 
and the ladies must take the same route. I have, by the 
favor of a friend, a safe-conduct and horses for you and your 
retinue. For Cod’s sake make haste ; you cannot propose to 
hold out with seven or eight men, and without provisions. 
Enough has been done for honor, and enough to render the 
defence of the highest consequence to government. More were 
needless, as well as desperate. The English troops are arrived 
at Edinburgh, and will speedily move upon Hamilton. The 
possession of Tillietudlem by the rebels will be but temporary.” 

“ If you think so, my lord,” said the veteran, with a reluctant 
sigh — “ I know you only advise what is honorable — if, then, 
you really think the case inevitable, I must submit ; for, the 
mutiny of these scoundrels would render it impossible to.man 
the walls^ Gudyill, let the women call up their mistresses. 


OLD MORTALITY 


257 


and all be ready to march. But if I could believe that my re- 
maining in these old walls, till I was starved to a mummy, 
could do the king*s cause the least service, old Miles Bellenden 
would not leave them while there was a spark of life in his 
body ! ” 

The ladies, already alarmed by the mutiny, now heard the 
determination of the Major, in which they readily acquiesced, 
though not without some groans and sighs on the part of Lady 
Margaret, which referred, as usual, to the disjune of his most 
sacred Majesty in the halls which were now to be abandoned 
to rebels. Hasty preparations were made for evacuating the 
Castle ; and long ere the dawn was distinct enough for dis- 
covering objects with precision, the ladies, with Major Bellen- 
den, Harrison, Gudyill, and the other domestics, were mounted 
on the led horses, and others which had been provided in the 
neighborhood, and proceeded toward s the north, still escorted 
by four of the insurgent horsemen. The rest of the party who 
had accompanied Lord Evandale from the hamlet took pos- 
session of the deserted Castle, carefully forbearing all outrage 
or acts of plunder. And when the sun arose the scarlet and 
blue colors of the Scottish Covenant floated from the Keep of 
Tillietudlem, 


CHAPTER XXIX 


And, to my breast, a bodkin in her hand 
Were worth a thousand daggers. 

Marlow. 

The cavalcade which left the Castle of Tillietudlem halted for 
a few minutes at the small town of Bothwell, after passing the 
outposts of the insurgents, to take some slight refreshments 
which their attendants had provided, and which were really 
necessary to persons who had suffered considerably by want of 
proper nourishment. They then pressed forward upon the 
road towards Edinburgh, amid the lights of dawn which were 
now rising on the horizon. It might have been expected, 
during the course of the journey, that Lord Evandale would 
have been frequently by the side of Miss Edith Bellenden. 
Yet, after his first salutations had been exchanged, and every 
precaution solicitously adopted which could serve for her 
accommodation, he rode in the van of the party with Major 
Bellenden, and seemed to abandon the charge of immediate 
attendance upon his lovely niece to one of the insurgent 
cavaliers, whose dark military cloak, with the large flapped hat 
and feather, which drooped over his face, concealed at once 
his figure and his features. 

They rode side by side in silence for more than two miles, 
when the stranger addressed Miss Bellenden in a tremulous 
and suppressed voice. “Miss Bellenden,” he said, “must 
have friends wherever she is known, even among those whose 
conduct she now disapproves. Is there anything that such 
can do to show their respect for her, and their regret for her 
sufferings ? ” 

“ Let them learn for their own sakes,” replied Edith, “ to 
venerate the laws and to spare innocent blood. Let them re- 
turn to their allegiance, and I can forgive them all that I 
have suffered, were it ten times more.” 

“ You think it impossible, then,” rejoined the cavalier, 
“for any one to serve in our ranks, having the weal of his 
country sincerely at heart, and conceiving himself in the dis- 
charge of a patriotic duty ? ” 


Old Mortality 


250 


te It might be imprudent, while so absolutely in your 
power,” replied Miss Bellenden, “ to answer that question.” 

“Not in the present instance, I plight you the word of a 
soldier,” replied the horseman. 

“ I have been taught candor from my birth,” said Edith ; 
“and, if I am to speak at all, I must utter my real sentiments. 
God only can judge the heart ; men must estimate intentions 
by actions. Treason, murder by the sword and by gibbet, the 
oppression of a private family such as ours, who were only in 
arms for the defence of the established government and of our 
own property, are actions which must needs sully all that have 
accession to them, by whatever specious terms they may be 
gilded over.” 

“ The guilt of civil war,” rejoined the horseman, “the 
miseries which it brings in its train, lie at the door of those 
who provoked it by illegal oppression, rather than of such as 
are driven to arms in order to assert their natural rights as 
freemen.” 

“ That is assuming the question,” replied Edith, “ which 
ought to be proved. Each party contends that they are right 
in point of principle, and therefore the guilt must lie with 
them who first drew the sword ; as, in an affray, law holds 
those to be the criminals who are the first to have recourse to 
violence.” 

“ Alas ! ” said the horseman, “ were our vindication to rest 
there, how easy would it be to show that we have suffered with 
a patience which almost seemed beyond the power of human- 
ity, ere we were driven by oppression into open resistance ! 
But I perceive.” he continued, sighing deeply, “that it is vain 
to plead before Miss Bellenden a cause which shr? has already 
prejudged, perhaps as much from her dislike of the persons 
as of the principles of those engaged in it.” 

“ Pardon me,” answered Edith ; “ I have stated with free- 
dom my opinion of the principles of the insurgents ; of their 
persons I know nothing — excepting in one solitary instance.” 

“And that instance,” said the horseman, “ has influenced 
your opinion of the whole body ?” 

“ Far from it,” said Edith ; “ he is — at least I once thought 
him — one in whose scale few were fit to be weighed ; he is — 
or he seemed. — one of early talent, high faith, pure morality, 
and warm affections. Can I approve of a rebellion which has 
made such a man, formed to ornament, to enlighten, and to 
defend his country, the companion of gloomy and ignorant 
fanatics or canting hypocrites, the leader of brutal clowns, 
the brother-in-arms to banditti and highway murderers ? 


260 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


Should you meet such an one in your camp, tell him that 
Edith Bellenden has wept more over his fallen character, 
blighted prospects, and dishonored name than over the dis- 
tresses of her own house ; and that she has better endured that 
famine which has wasted her cheek and dimmed her eye than 
the pang of heart which attended the reflection by and through 
whom these calamities were inflicted/’ 

As she thus spoke, she turned upon her companion a 
countenance whose faded cheek attested the reality of her 
sufferings, even while it glowed with the temporary animation 
which accompanied her language. The horseman was not 
insensible to the appeal ; he raised his hand to his brow with 
the sudden motion of one who feels a pang shoot along his 
brain, passed it hastily over his face, and then pulled the 
shadowing hat still deeper on his forehead. The movement, 
and the feelings which it excited, did not escape Edith, nor 
did she remark them without emotion. 

“ And yet,” she said, “ should the person of whom I speak 
seem to you too deeply affected by the hard opinion of — of — 
an early friend, say to him that sincere repentance is next to 
innocence ; that, though fallen from a height not easily re- 
covered, and the author of much mischief, because gilded by 
his example, he may still atone in some measure for the evil 
he has done.” 

“ And in what manner ?” asked the cavalier, in the same 
suppressed and almost choked voice. 

“ By lending his efforts to restore the blessings of peace to 
his distracted countrymen, and to induce the deluded rebels 
to lay down their arms. By saving their blood, he may atone 
for that which has been already spilled ; and he that shall be 
most ac ti ve in accomplishing this great end will best deserve the 
thanks of this age and an honored remembrance in the next.” 

“ And in such a peace,” said her companion, with a firm 
voice, “ Miss Bellenden would not wish, I think, that the 
interests of the people were sacrificed unreservedly to those 
of the crown ? ” 

“ I am but a girl,” was the young lady’s reply ; “and I 
scarce can speak on the subject without presumption. But, 
since I have gone so far, I will fairly add, I would wish to see 
a peace which should give rest to all parties, and secure the 
subjects from military rapine, which I detest as much as I do 
the means now adopted to resist it.” 

“Miss Bellenden,” answered Henry Morton, raising his 
face and speaking in his natural tone, “ the person who has 
lost such a highly valued place in your esteem has yet too 


OLD MORTALITY 


261 


much spirit to plead his cause as a criminal ; and, conscious 
that he can no longer claim a friend's interest in your bosom, 
he would be silent under your hard censure, were it not that 
he can refer to the honored testimony of Lord Evandale, that 
his earnest wishes and most active exertions are, even now, di- 
rected to the accomplishment of such a peace as the most 
loyal cannot censure." 

He bowed with dignity to Miss Bellenden, who, though 
her language intimated that she well knew to whom she had 
been speaking, probably had not expected that he would jus- 
tify himself with so much animation. She returned his salute, 
confused and in silence. Morton then rode forward to the 
head of the party. 

“ Henry Morton ! ” exclaimed Major Bellenden, surprised 
at the sudden apparition. 

“ The same," answered Morton ; “ who is sorry that he 
labors under the harsh construction of Major Bellenden and 
his family. He commits to my Lord Evandale," he continued, 
turning towards the young nobleman and bowing to him, 
“ the charge of undeceiving his friends, both regarding the 
particulars of his conduct and the purity of his motives. 
Farewell, Major Bellenden. All happiness attend you and 
yours ! May we meet again in happier and better times ! " 

“Believe me," said Lord Evandale, “your confidence, 
Mr. Morton, is not misplaced ; I will endeavor to repay the 
great services I have received from you by doing my best to 
place your character on its proper footing with Major Bellen- 
den and all whose esteem you value." 

“I expected no less from your generosity, my lord," said 
Morton. 

He then called his followers, and rode off along the heath 
in the direction of Hamilton, their feathers waving and their 
steel caps glancing in the beams of the rising sun. Cuddie 
Headrigg alone remained an instant behind his companions 
to take an affectionate farewell of Jenny Dennison, who had 
contrived, during this short morning's ride, to re-establish 
her influence over his susceptible bosom. A straggling tree 
or two obscured, rather than concealed, their tete-a-tete, as 
they halted their horses to bid adieu. 

“Fare ye weel, Jenny," said Cuddie, with a loud exertion 
of his lungs, intended perhaps to be a sigh, but rather resem- 
bling the intonation of a groan. “Ye'll think o' puir Cuddie 
sometimes, an honest lad that lo'es ye, Jenny — ye'll think o' 
him now and then ? " 

“Whiles — at brose-time," answered the malicious damsel* 


m 


WAVEkLEY NOVtiLg 


unable either to suppress the repartee or the arch smile wbicli 
attended it. 

Cud die took his revenge as rustic lovers are wont, and as 
Jenny probably expected, — caught his mistress round the neck, 
kissed her cheeks and lips heartily, and then turned his horse 
and trotted after his master. 

“ Deil's in the fallow,” said Jenny, wiping her lips and 
adjusting her head-dress, “ he has twice the spunk o' Tam 
Halliday, after a'. Coming, my leddy, coming. Lord have 
a care o' us, I trust the auld leddy didna see us ! '' 

“ Jenny,” said Lady Margaret, as the damsel came up, 
“ was not that young man who commanded the party the same 
that was captain of the popinjay, and who was afterwards 
prisoner at Tillietudlem on the morning Claverhouse came 
there ? ” 

Jenny, happy that the query had no reference to her own 
little matters, looked at her young mistress to discover, if 
possible, whether it was her cue to speak truth or not. IS ot 
being able to catch any hint to guide her, she followed her 
instinct as a lady's-maid, and lied. 

“I dinna believe it was him, my leddy,” said Jenny, as 
confidently as if she had been saying her catechism ; “ he was 
a little black man, that.” 

“You must have been blind, Jenny,” said the Major: 
“ Henry Morton is tall and fair, and that youth is the very 
man.” 

“I had ither thing ado than be looking at him,” said 
Jenny, tossing her head; “he may be as fair as a farthing 
candle for me.” 

“ Is it not,” said Lady Margaret, “ a blessed escape which 
we have made out of the hands of so desperate and bloodthirsty 
a fanatic ? ” 

“You are deceived, madam,” said Lord Evandale ; “Mr. 
Morton merits such a title from no one, but least from us. 
That I am now alive, and that you are now on your safe re- 
treat to your friends, instead of being prisoners to a real fanatical 
homicide, is solely and entirely owing to the prompt, active, 
and energetic humanity of this young gentleman.” 

He then went into a particular narrative of the events 
with which the reader is acquainted, dwelling upon the merits 
of Morton, and expatiating on the risk at which he had ren- 
dered them these important services, as if he had been a brother 
instead of a rival. 

“ I were worse than ungrateful,” he said, “ were I silent 
on the merits of the man who has twice saved my life.” 


OLD MORTALITY 


263 


u I would willingly think well of Henry Morton, my lord,” 
replied Major Bellenden ; “and I own he has behaved hand- 
somely to your lordship and to us ; but I cannot have the 
same allowances which it pleases your lordship to entertain 
for his present courses.” 

“ You are to consider,” replied’Lord Evandale, “ that he 
has been partly forced upon them by necessity ; and I must 
add, that his principles, though differing in some degree from 
my own, are such as ought to command respect. Claverhouse, 
whose knowledge of men is not to be disputed, spoke justly 
of him as to his extraordinary qualities, but with prejudice 
and harshly concerning his principles and motives.” 

“You have not been long in learning all his extraordinary 
qualities, my lord,” answered Major Bellenden. “I, who 
have known him from boyhood, could, before this affair, have 
said much of his good principles and good-nature ; but as to 
his high talents •” 

“ They were probably hidden. Major,” replied the generous 
Lord Evandale, “ even from himself until circumstances 
called them forth ; and, if I have detected them, it was only 
because our intercourse and conversation turned on moment- 
ous and important subjects. He is now laboring to bring 
this rebellion to an end, and the terms he has proposed are 
so moderate that they shall not want my hearty recommenda- 
tion.” 

“And have you hopes,” said Lady Margaret, “to accom- 
plish a scheme so comprehensive ?” 

“I should have, madam, were every Whig as moderate as 
Morton, and every loyalist as disinterested as Major Bellen- 
den. But such is the fanaticism and violent irritation of both 
parties, that I fear nothing will end this civil war save the 
edge of the sword.” 

It may be readily supposed that Edith listened with the 
deepest interest to this conversation. While she regretted 
that she had expressed herself harshly and hastily to her lover, 
she felt a conscious and proud satisfaction that his character 
was, even in the judgment of his noble-minded rival, such as 
her own affection had once spoke it. 

“Civil feuds and domestic prejudices,” she said, “may 
render it necessary for me to tear his remembrance from my 
heart ; but it is no small relief to know assuredly that it is 
worthy of the place it has so long retained there.” 

While Edith was thus retracting her unjust resentment, 
her lover arrived at the camp of the insurgents near Hamil- 
ton, which he found in considerable confusion. Certain ad- 


264 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


vices had arrived that the royal army, having been recruited 
from England by a large detachment of the King’s Guards, 
were about to take the field. Fame magnified their numbers 
and their high state of equipment and discipline, and spread 
abroad other circumstances which dismayed the courage of 
the insurgents. What favor they might have expected from 
Monmouth was likely to be intercepted by the influence of 
those associated with him in command. His lieutenant-gen- 
eral was the celebrated General Thomas Dalzell, who, having 
practised the art of war in the then barbarous country of 
Russia, was as much feared for his cruelty and indifference to 
human life and human sufferings as respected for his steady 
loyalty and undaunted valor. This man was second in com- 
mand to Monmouth, and the horse were commanded by Clav- 
erhouse, burning with desire to revenge the death of his 
nephew and his defeat at Drumclog. To these accounts was 
added the most formidable and terrific description of the train 
of artillery and the cavalry force with which the royal army 
took the field.* 

Large bodies composed of the Highland clans, having in 
language, religion, and manners no connection with the in- 
surgents, had been summoned to join the royal army under 
their various chieftains ; and these Amorites, or Philistines, 
as the insurgents termed them, came like eagles to the 
slaughter. In fact, every person who could ride or run at the 
king’s command was summoned to arms, apparently with the 
purpose of forfeiting and fining such men of property whom 
their principles might deter from joining the royal standard, 
though prudence prevented them from joining that of the in- 
surgent Presbyterians. In short, every rumor tended to in- 
crease the apprehension among the insurgents that the king’s 
vengeance had only been delayed in order that it might fall 
more certain and more heavy. 

Morton endeavored to fortify the minds of the common 
people by pointing out the probable exaggeration of these 
reports, and by reminding them of the strength of their own 
situation, with an unfordable river in front only passable by 
a long and narrow bridge. He called to their remembrance 
their victory over Claverhouse when their numbers were few, 
and then much worse disciplined and appointed for battle than 
now ; showed them that the ground on which they lay afforded, 
by its undulation and the thickets which intersected it, con- 
siderable protection against artillery, and even against cavalry, 

* See Royal Army at Bothwell Bridge, Note 27. 


OLD MORTALITY 


m 


if stoutly defended ; and that their safety, in fact, depended 
on their own spirit and resolution. 

But while Morton thus endeavored to keep up the courage 
of the army at large, he availed himself of those discouraging 
rumors to endeavor to impress on the minds of the leaders 
the necessity of proposing to the government moderate terms 
of accommodation, while they were still formidable as com- 
manding an unbroken and numerous army. He pointed out 
to them that, in the present humor of their followers, it could 
hardly be expected that they would engage, with advantage, 
the well-appointed and regular force of the Duke of Monmouth; 
and that if they chanced, as was most likely, to be defeated 
and dispersed, the insurrection in which they had engaged, so 
far from being useful to the country, would be rendered the 
apology for oppressing it more severely. 

Pressed by these arguments, and feeling it equally danger- 
ous to remain together or to dismiss their forces, most of the 
leaders readily agreed that, if such terms could be obtained as 
had been transmitted to the Duke of Monmouth by the hands 
of Lord Evandale, the purpose for which they had taken up 
arms would be, in a great measure, accomplished. They then 
entered into similar resolutions, and agreed to guarantee the 
petition and remonstrance which had been drawn up by Mor- 
ton. On the contrary, there were still several leaders, and 
those men whose influence with the people exceeded that of 
persons of more apparent consequence, who regarded every 
proposal of treaty which did not proceed on the basis of the 
Solemn League and Covenant of 1640 as utterly null and void, 
impious, and unchristian. These men diffused their feelings 
among the multitude, who had little foresight and nothing 
to lose, and persuaded many that the timid counsellors who 
recommended peace upon terms short of the dethronement of 
the royal family, and the declared independence of the church 
with respect to the state, were cowardly laborers, who were 
about to withdraw their hands from the plough, and despica- 
ble trimmers, who sought only a specious pretext for deserting 
their brethren in arms. These contradictory opinions were 
fiercely argued in each tent of the insurgent army, or rather 
in the huts or cabins which served in the place of tents. 
Violence in language often led to open quarrels and blows, 
and the divisions into which the army of sufferers was rent 
served as too plain a presage of their future fate. 


CHAPTER XXX 


The curse of growing factions and divisions 
Still vex your councils ! 

Venice Preserved. 

The prudence of Morton found sufficient occupation in stem- 
ming the furious current of these contending parties, when, 
two days after his return to Hamilton, he was visited by his 
friend and colleague, the Reverend Mr. Poundtext, flying, as 
he presently found, from the face of John Balfour of Burley, 
whom he left not a little incensed at the share he had taken 
in the liberation of Lord Evandale. When the worthy divine 
had somewhat recruited his spirits, after the hurry and fatigue 
of his journey, he proceeded to give Morton an account of 
what had passed in the vicinity of Tillietudlem after the mem- 
orable morning of his departure. 

The night march of Morton had been accomplished with 
such dexterity, and the men were so faithful to their trust, 
that Burley received no intelligence of what had happened 
until the morning was far advanced. His first inquiry was, 
whether Macbriar and Kettledrummle had arrived, agreeably 
to the summons which he had despatched at midnight. Mac- 
briar had come, and Kettledrummle, though a heavy traveller, 
might, he was informed, be instantly expected. Burley then 
despatched a messenger to Morton's quarters to summon him 
to an immediate council. The messenger returned with news 
that he had left the place. Poundtext was next summoned ; 
but he thinking, as he said himself, that it was ill dealing 
with fractious folk, had withdrawn to his own quiet manse, 
preferring a dark ride, though he had been on horseback the 
whole preceding day, to a renewal in the morning of a con- 
troversy with Burley, whose ferocity overawed him when un- 
supported by the firmness of Morton. Burley's next inquiries 
were directed after Lord Evandale ; and great was his rage 
when he learned that he had been conveyed away overnight 
by a party of the Marksmen of Milnwood, under the imme- 
diate command of Henry Morton himself. 

“ The villain !" exclaimed Burley, addressing himself to 


OLD MORTALITY 


267 


Macbriar, “the base, mean-spirited traitor, to curry favor 
for himself with the government, hath set at liberty the pris- 
oner taken by my own right hand, through means of whom, 
I have little doubt, the possession of the place of strength 
which hath wrought us such trouble might now have been in 
cur hands ! " 

“ But is it not in our hands ?’’ said Macbriar, looking up 
towards the keep of the castle ; “and are not these the colors 
of the Covenant that float over its walls ? ’’ 

“ A stratagem, a mere trick," said Burley, “ an insult 
over our disappointment, intended to aggravate and embitter 
our spirits." 

He was interrupted by the arrival of one of Morton’s fol- 
lowers, sent to report to him the evacuation of the place, and 
its occupation by the insurgent forces. Burley was rather 
driven to fury than reconciled by the news of this success. 

“ I have watched," he said, “ I have fought, I have plotted, 
1 have striven for the reduction of this place, I have for- 
borne to seek to head enterprises of higher command and of 
higher honor, I have narrowed their outgoings, and cut off 
the springs, and broken the staff of bread within their walls ; 
and when the men were about to yield themselves to my 
hand, that their sons might be bondsmen and their daughters 
a laughing-stock to our whole camp, cometh this youth 
without a beard on his chin, and takes it on him to thrust 
his sickle into the harvest, and to rend the prey from the 
spoiler ! Surely the laborer is worthy of his hire, and the 
c: + y, with its captives, should be given to him that wins it ? " 

“ Hay," said Macbriar, who was surprised at the degree 
of agitation which Balfour displayed, “chafe not thyself be- 
cause of the ungodly. Heaven will use its own instruments ; 
and who knows but this youth " 

“Hush! hush !" said Burley; “do not discredit thine 
own better judgment. It was thou that first badest me be- 
ware of this painted sepulchre, this lacquered piece of copper, 
that passed current with me for gold. It fares ill, even with 
the elect, when they neglect the guidance of such pious pas- 
tors as thou. But our carnal affections will mislead us : this 
ungrateful boy’s father was mine ancient friend. They must 
be as earnest in their struggles as thou, Ephraim Macbriar, 
that would shake themselves clear of the clogs and chains of 
humanity." 

This compliment touched the preacher in the most sensi- 
ble part ; and Burley deemed, therefore, he should find little 
difficulty in moplding his opinions to the support of his own 


268 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


views, more especially as they agreed exactly in their high- 
strained opinions of church government. 

“ Let us instantly,” he said, “go up to the Tower ; there 
is that among the records in yonder fortress which, well used 
as I can use it, shall be worth to us a valiant leader and an 
hundred horsemen.” 

“ But will such be the fitting aids of the children of the 
Covenant ? ” said the preacher. “We have already among us 
too many who hunger after lands, and silver and gold, rather 
than after the Word ; it is not by such that our deliverance 
shall be wrought out.” 

“Thou errest,” said Burley ; “ we must work by means, 
and these worldly men shall be our instruments. At all 
events, the Moabitish woman shall be despoiled of her inher- 
itance, and neither the Malignant Evandale nor the Erastian 
Morton shall possess yonder castle and lands, though they 
may seek in marriage the daughter thereof.” 

So saying, he led the way to Tillietudlem, where he seized 
upon the plate and other valuables for the use of the army, 
ransacked the charter-room and other receptacles for family 
papers, and treated with contempt the remonstrances of those 
who reminded him that the terms granted to the garrison had 
guaranteed respect to private property. 

Burley and Macbriar, having established themselves in 
their new acquisition, were joined by Kettledrummle in the 
course of the day, and also by the Laird of Langcale, whom 
that active divine had contrived to seduce, as Poundtext termed 
it, from the pure light in which he had been brought up. Thus 
united, they sent to the said Poundtext an invitation, or 
rather a summons, to attend a council at Tillietudlem. He 
remembered, however, that the door had an iron grate and 
the keep a dungeon, and resolved not to trust himself with 
his incensed colleagues. He therefore retreated, or rather 
fled, to Hamilton, with the tidings that Burley, Macbriar, 
and Kettledrummle were coming to Hamilton as soon as they 
could collect a body of Cameronians sufficient to overawe the 
rest of the army. 

“And ye see,” concluded Poundtext, with a deep sigh, 
“ that they will then possess a majority in the council ; for 
Langcale, though he has always passed for one of the honest 
and rational *party, cannot be suitably or preceesely termed 
either fish, or flesh, or gude red-herring ; whoever has the 
stronger party has Langcale.” 

Thus concluded the heavy narrative of honest Poundtext, 
tyho sighed deeply, as he considered the danger in which he 


OLD MORTALITY 


was placed betwixt unreasonable adversaries among them- 
selves, and the common enemy from without. Morton ex- 
horted him to patience, temper, and composure ; informed 
h i of the good hope he had of negotiating for peace and in- 
demnity through means of Lord Evandale, and made out to 
him a very fair prospect that he should again return to his own 
parchment-bound Calvin, his evening pipe of tobacco, and his 
noggin of inspiring ale, providing always he would afford his 
effectual support and concurrence to the measures which he, 
Merton, had taken for a general pacification.* Thus backed 
and comforted, Poundtext resolved magnanimously to await 
the coming of the Cameronians to the general rendezvous. 

Burley and his confederates had drawn together a consider- 
able body of these sectaries, amounting to a hundred horse and 
about fifteen hundred foot, clouded and severe in aspect, mo- 
rose and jealous in communication, haughty of heart, and con- 
fident, as men who believed that the pale of salvation was 
open for them exclusively, while all other Christians, however 
slight were the shades of difference of doctrine from their own, 
were in fact little better than outcasts or reprobates. These 
men entered the Presbyterian camp rather as dubious and sus- 
picious allies, or possibly antagonists, than as men who were 
heartily embarked in the same cause, and exposed to the same 
dangers, with their more moderate brethren in arms. Burley 
made no private visits to his colleagues* and held no com- 
munication with them on the subject of the public affairs, 
otherwise than by sending a dry invitation to them to attend 
a meeting of the general council for that evening. 

On the arrival of Morton and Poundtext at the place of 
assembly they found their brethren already seated. Slight 
greeting passed between them, and it was easy to see that no 
amicable conference was intended by those who convoked the 
council. The first question was put by Macbriar, the sharp 
eagerness of whose zeal urged him to the van on all occasions. 
He desired to know by whose authority the Malignant called 
Lord Evandale had been freed from the doom of death justly 
denounced against him. 

“By my authority and Mr. Morton's,” replied Poundtext, 
who, besides being anxious to give his companion a good opin- 
ion of his courage, confided heartily in his support, and, more- 
over, had much less fear of encountering one of his own 
profession, and who confined himself to the weapons of theo- 
logical controversy, in which Poundtext feared no man, than 
of entering into debate with the stern homicide Balfour, 

* gee Moderate Presbyterians. Note 98. 


270 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


“And who, brother," said Kettledrummle— “ who gave 
you authority to interpose in such a high matter ?” 

“The tenor of our commission,” answered Poundtext, 
“gives us authority to bind and to loose. If Lord Evandale 
was justly doomed to die by the voice of one of our number, he 
was of a surety lawfully redeemed from death by the warrant 
of two of us.” 

“ Go to, go to,” said Burley ; “ we know your motives : it 
Avas to send that silkworm, that gilded trinket, that embroi- 
dered trifle of a lord to bear terms of peace to the tyrant.” 

“It was so,” replied Morton, who saw his companion 
begin to flinch before the fierce eye of Balfour — “ it was so ; 
and Avhat then ? Are we to plunge the nation in endless war 
in order to pursue schemes which are equally wild, wicked, 
and unattainable ?” 

“ Hear him !” said Balfour ; “ he blasphemeth.” 

“ It is false,” said Morton ; “ they blaspheme who pretend 
to expect miracles, and neglect the use of the human means 
with which Providence has blessed them. I repeat it — Our 
avowed object is the re-establishment of peace on fair and 
honorable terms of security to our religion and our liberty. 
We disclaim any desire to tyrannize over those of others.” 

The debate would now have run higher than ever, but 
they were interrupted by intelligence that the Duke of Mon- 
mouth had commenced his march towards the Avest, and was 
already advanced half-way from Edinburgh. This news si- 
lenced their divisions for the moment, and it was agreed 
that the next day should be held as a fast of general humilia- 
tion for the sins of the land ; that the Eeverend Mr. Pound- 
text should preach to the army in the morning, and Ket- 
tledrummle in the afternoon ; that neither should touch upon 
any topics of schism or of division, but animate the soldiers 
to resist to the blood, like brethren in a good cause. This 
healing o\ r erture having been agreed to, the Moderate party 
ventured upon another proposal, confiding that it would have 
the support of Langcale, who looked extremely blank at the 
news which they had just received, and might be supposed 
reconverted to Moderate measures. It was to be presumed, 
they said, that since the king had not intrusted the command 
of his forces upon the present occasion to any of their active 
oppressors, but, on the contrary, had employed a nobleman 
distinguished by gentleness of temper and a disposition favor- 
able to their cause, there must be" some better intention en- 
tertained towards them than they had yet experienced. They 
contended that it was not only prudent but necessary to as* 


OLD MORTALITY 


m 

certain, from a communication with the Duke of Monmouth, 
whether he was not charged with some secret instructions in 
their favor. This could only be learned by despatching an 
envoy to his army. 

“And who will undertake the task ?” said Burley, evad- 
ing a proposal too reasonable to be openly resisted — “who will 
go up to their camp, knowing that John Grahame of Claver- 
house hath sworn to hang up whomsoever we shall despatch 
towards them, in revenge of the death of the young man his 
nephew ? ” 

“Let that be no obstacle,” said Morton; “I will with 
pleasure encounter any risk attached to the bearer of your er- 
rand.” 

‘ f Let him go,” said Balfour, apart to Macbriar ; “ our coun- 
cils will be well rid of his presence.” 

The motion, therefore, received no contradiction even from 
those who were expected to have been most active in opposing 
it; and it was agreed that Henry Morton should go to the 
camp of the Duke of Monmouth, in order to discover upon 
what terms the insurgents would be admitted to treat with 
him. As soon as his errand was made known several of the 
more Moderate party joined in requesting him to make terms 
upon the footing of the petition intrusted to Lord Evand ale's 
hands ; for the approach of the king's army spread a general 
trepidation, by no means allayed by the high tone assumed by 
the Cameronians, which had so little to support it excepting 
their own headlong zeal. With these instructions, and with 
Cuddie as his attendant, Morton set forth towards the royal 
camp, at all the risks which attend those who assume the 
office of mediator during the heat of civil discord. 

Morton had not proceeded six or seven miles before he per- 
ceived that he was on the point of falling in with the van of 
the royal forces ; and, as he ascended a height, saw all the 
roads in the neighborhood occupied by armed men marching 
in great order towards Bothwell Muir, an open common, on 
which they proposed to encamp for that evening, at the dis- 
tance of scarcely two miles from the Clyde, on the further side 
of which river the army of the insurgents was encamped. He 
gave himself up to the first advanced guard of cavalry which 
he met, as bearer of a flag of truce, and communicated his 
desire to obtain access to the Duke of Monmouth. The non- 
commissioned officer who commanded the party made his re- 
port to his superior, and he again to another in still higher 
command, and both immediately rode to the spot where Mor- 
ton was detained. 


272 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


“ You are but losing your time, my friend, and risking 
your life,” said one of them, addressing Morton ; “ the Duke 
of Monmouth will receive no terms from traitors with arms 
in their hands, and your cruelties have been such as to author- 
ize retaliation of every kind. Better trot your nag back and 
save his mettle to-day, that he may save your life to-morrow.” 

“I cannot think,” said Morton, “that, even if the Duke 
of Monmouth should consider us as criminals, he would con- 
demn so large a body of his fellow-subjects without even hear- 
ing what they have to plead for themselves. On my part I 
fear nothing. I am conscious of having consented to, or au- 
thorized, no cruelty, and the fear of suffering innocently for 
the crimes of others shall not deter me from executing my 
commission.” 

The two officers looked at each other. 

“ I have an idea,” said the younger, “that this is the young 
man of whom Lord Evandale spoke.” 

“Is my Lord Evandale in the army ?” said Morton. 

“He is not,” replied the officer ; “we left him at Edin- 
burgh, too much indisposed to take the field. Your name, 
sir, I presume, is Henry Morton ? ” 

“It is, sir,” answered Morton. 

“ We will not oppose your seeing the Duke, sir,” said the 
officer, with more civility of manner; “but you may assure 
yourself it will be to no purpose ; for, were his Grace dis- 
posed to favor your people, others are joined in commission 
with him who will hardly consent to his doing so.” 

“ I shall be sorry to find it thus,” said Morton ; “ but my 
duty requires that I should persevere in my desire to have an 
interview with him.” 

“ Lumley,” said the superior officer, “let the Duke know 
of Mr. MortoiTs arrival, and remind his Grace that this is 
the person of whom Lord Evandale spoke so highly." 

The officer returned with a message that the General could 
not see Mr. Morton that evening, but would receive him by 
times in the ensuing morning. He was detained in a neigh- 
boring cottage all night, but treated with civility, and every- 
thing provided for his accommodation. 

Early on the next morning the officer he had first seen 
came to conduct him to his audience. The army was drawn 
out, and in the act of forming column for march, or attack. 
The Duke was in the centre, nearly a mile from the place 
where Morton had passed the night. In riding towards the 
General, he had an opportunity of estimating the force which 
had been assembled for the suppression of the hasty and ill- 


OLD MORTALITY 


273 


concerted insurrection. There were three or four regiments 
of English, the flower of Charles’s army ; there were the Scot- 
tish Life Guards, burning with desire to revenge their late 
defeat ; other Scottish regiments of regulars were also assem- 
bled ; and a large body of cavalry, consisting partly of gen- 
tlemen volunteers, partly of the tenants of the crown who did 
military duty for their fiefs. Morton also observed several 
strong parties of Highlanders drawn from the points nearest 
to the Lowland frontiers, a people, as already mentioned, par- 
ticularly obnoxious to the western Whigs, and who hated and 
despised them in the same proportion. These were assembled 
under their chiefs, and made part of this formidable array. 
A complete train of field artillery accompanied these troops ; 
and the whole had an air so imposing that it seemed nothing 
short of an actual miracle could prevent the ill-equipped, ill- 
modelled, and tumultuary army of the insurgents from being 
utterly destroyed. The officer who accompanied Morton en- 
deavored to gather from his looks the feelings with which 
this splendid and awful parade of military force had impressed 
him. But, true to the cause he had espoused, he labored suc- 
cessfully to prevent the anxiety which he felt from appearing 
in his countenance, and looked around him on the warlike 
display as on a sight which he expected, and to which he was 
indifferent. 

“You see the entertainment prepared for you,” said the 
officer. 

“ If I had no appetite for it,” replied Morton, “ I should 
not have been accompanying you at this moment. But I 
shall be better pleased with a more peaceful regale, for the 
sake of all parties.” 

As they spoke thus, they approached the commander-in- 
chief, who, surrounded by several officers, was seated upon a 
knoll commanding an extensive prospect of the distant country, 
and from which could be easily discovered the windings of 
the majestic Clyde, and the distant camp of the insurgents 
on the opposite bank. The officers of the royal army appeared 
to be surveying the ground, with the purpose of directing an 
immediate attack. When Captain Lumley, the officer who 
accompanied Morton, had whispered in Monmouth’s ear his 
name and errand, the Duke made a signal for all around him 
to retire, excepting only two general officers of distinction. 
While they spoke together in whispers for a few minutes before 
Morton was permitted to advance, he had time to study the 
appearance of the persons with whom he was to treat. 

It was impossible for any one to look upon the Duke of 


m 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


Monmouth without being captivated by his personal graces 
and accomplishments, of which the great High Priest of all 
the Nine afterwards recorded — 

Whate’er he did was done with so much ease, 

In him alone ’twas natural to please ; 

His motions all accompanied with grace, 

And Paradise was open’d in his face.* 

Yet to a strict observer the manly beauty of Monmouth's face 
was occasionally rendered less striking by an air of vacillation 
and uncertainty, which seemed to imply hesitation and 
doubt at moments when decisive resolution was most neces- 
sary. 

Beside him stood Claverhouse, whom we have already 
fully described, and another general officer whose appear- 
ance was singularly striking. His dress was of the antique 
fashion of Charles the First's time, and composed of chamois 
leather, curiously slashed, and covered with antique lace and 
garniture. His boots and spurs might he referred to the 
sime distant period. He wore a breastplate, over which de- 
scended a gray beard of venerable length, which he cherished 
as a mark of mourning for Charles the First, having never 
shaved since that monarch was brought to the scaffold. His 
head was uncovered, and almost perfectly bald. His high 
and wrinkled forehead, piercing gray eyes, and marked feat- 
ures evinced age unbroken by infirmity, and stern resolu- 
tion unsoftened by humanity. Such is the outline, however 
feebly expressed, of the celebrated General Thomas Dalzell,f 
a man more feared and hated by the Whigs than even Claver- 
house himself, and who executed the same violences against 
them out of a detestation of their persons, or perhaps an in- 
nate severity of temper, which Grahame only resorted to on 
political accounts, as the best means of intimidating the fol- 
lowers of Presbytery, and of destroying that sect entirely. 

The presence of these two generals, one of whom he knew 
by person and the other by description, seemed to Morton 
decisive of the fate of his embassy. But, notwithstanding 
his youth and inexperience, and the unfavorable reception 
which his proposals seemed likely to meet with, he advanced 
boldly towards them upon receiving a signal to that purpose, 
determined that the cause of his country, and of those with 
whom he had taken up arms, should suffer nothing from 
being intrusted to him. Monmouth received him with the 

* Dryden’s Absalom and Achitophel ( Laing ). 
t 6 m Note 29, 


OLD MORTALITY 


275 


graceful courtesy which attended even his slightest actions ; 
Dalzell regarded him with a stern, gloomy, and impatient 
frown ; and Claverhouse, with a sarcastic smile and inclina- 
tion of his head, seemed to claim him as an old acquaintance. 

“You come, sir, from these unfortunate people now as- 
sembled in arms,” said the Duke of Monmouth, “and your 
name, I believe, is Morton ; will you favor us with the pur- 
port of your errand ? ” 

“It is contained, my lord,” answered Morton, “ in a pa- 
per, termed a Remonstrance and Supplication, which my 
LordEvandale has placed, I presume, in your Grace’s hands ?” 

“ He has done so, sir,” answered the Duke ; “and I un- 
derstand from Lord Evandale that Mr. Morton has behaved 
in these unhappy matters with much temperance and gen- 
erosity, for which I have to request his acceptance of my 
thanks.” 


Here Morton observed Dalzell shake his head indignantly 
and whisper something into Claverhouse’s ear, who smiled in 
return, and elevated his eyebrows, but in a degree so slight as 
scarce to be perceptible. The Duke, taking the petition from 
his pocket, proceeded, obviously struggling between the na- 
tive gentleness of his own disposition, and perhaps his con- 
viction that the petitioners demanded no more than their 
rights, and the desire, on the other hand, of enforcing the 
king’s authority, and complying with the sterner opinions of 
the colleagues in office, who had been assigned for the pur- 
pose of controlling as well as advising him. 

“ There are, Mr. Morton, in this paper, proposals as to 
the abstract propriety of which I must now waive delivering 
any opinion. Some of them appear to me reasonable and 
just ; and, although I have no express instructions from the 
King upon the subject, yet I assure you, Mr. Morton, and I 
pledge my honor, that I will interpose in your behalf, and 
use my utmost influence to procure you satisfaction from his 
Majesty. But you must distinctly understand that I can only 
treat with supplicants, not with rebels ; and, as a preliminary 
to every act of favor on my side, I must insist upon your fol- 
lowers laying down their arms and dispersing themselves.” 

“ To do so, my Lord Duke,” replied Morton, undaunt- 
edly, “were to acknowledge ourselves the rebels that our ene- 
mies term us. Our swords are drawn for recovery of a birth- 
right wrested from us ; your Grace’s moderation and good 
sense has admitted the general justice of our demand — a de- 
mand which would never have been listened to had it not been 
accompanied with the sound of the trumpet. We canpof. 


276 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


therefore, and dare not, lay down our arms, even on your 
Grace's assurance of indemnity, unless it were accompanied 
with some reasonable prospect of the redress of the wrongs 
which we complain of." 

“ Mr. Morton," replied the Duke, “you are young, but 
you must have seen enough of the world to perceive that re- 
quests, by no means dangerous or unreasonable in themselves, 
may become so by the way in which they are pressed and sup- 
ported." 

“We may reply, my lord," answered Morton, “that this 
disagreeable mode has not been resorted to until all others 
have failed." 

“Mr. Morton," said the Duke, “I must break this con- 
ference short. We are in readiness to commence the attack ; 
yet I will suspend it for an hour, until you can communicate 
my answer to the insurgents. If they please to disperse their 
followers, lay down their arms, and send a peaceful deputation 
to me, I will consider myself bound in honor to do all I can to 
procure redress of their grievances ; if not, let them stand on 
their guard and expect the consequences. I think, gentle- 
men," he added, turning to his two colleagues, “ this is the 
utmost length to which I can stretch my instructions in 
favor of these misguided persons ? " 

“ By my faith," answered Dalzell, suddenly, “ and it is a 
length to which my poor judgment durst not have stretched 
them, considering I had both the King and my conscience to 
answer to ! But, doubtless, your Grace knows more of the 
King's private mind than we, who have only the letter of our 
instructions to look to." 

Monmouth blushed deeply. “ You hear," he said, ad- 
dressing Morton, “ General Dalzell blames me for the length 
which I am disposed to go in your favor." 

“ General Dalzell's sentiments, my lord," replied Morton, 
“are such as we expected from him; your Grace's such as we 
were prepared to hope you might please to entertain. In- 
deed, I cannot help adding that, in the case of the absolute 
submission upon which you are pleased to insist, it might 
still remain something less than doubtful how far, with such 
counsellors around the King, even your Grace's intercession 
might procure us effectual relief. But I will communicate 
to our leaders your Grace's answer to our supplication ; and, 
since we cannot obtain peace, we must bid war welcome as 
well as we may." 

“ Good morning, sir," said the Duke ; “ I suspend the move- 
ments of attack for one hour, and for one hour only. If yon 


OLD MORTALITY 


277 


have an answer to return within that space of time, I will 
receive it here, and earnestly entreat it may be such as to save 
the effusion of blood.” 

At this moment another smile of deep meaning passed 
between Dalzell and Claverhouse. 

The Duke observed it, and repeated his words with great 
dignity. “ Yes, gentlemen, I said I trusted the answer might 
be such as would save the effusion of blood. I hope the senti- 
ment neither needs your scorn nor incurs your displeasure.” 

Dalzell returned the Duke's frown with astern glance, but 
made no answer. Claverhouse, his lip just curled with an 
iroiiical smile, bowed, and said, “ It was not for him to judge 
the propriety of his Grace's sentiments.'' 

The Duke made a signal to Morton to withdraw. He 
obeyed, and, accompanied by his former escort, rode slowly 
through the army to return to the camp of the nonconformists. 
As he passed the fine corps of Life Guards, he found Claver- 
house was already at their head. That officer no sooner saw 
Morton than he advanced and addressed him with perfect 
politeness of manner. 

“ I think this is not the first time I have seen Mr. Morton 
of Milnwood ? " 

“ It is not Colonel Grahame's fault,'' said Morton, smiling 
sternly, “that he or any one else should be now incommoded 
by my presence.'' 

“ Allow me at least to say,'' replied Claverhouse, “ that Mr. 
Morton's present situation authorizes the opinion I have enter- 
tained of him, and that my proceedings at our last meeting 
only squared to my duty.'' 

“ To reconcile your actions to your duty, and your duty to 
your conscience, is your business. Colonel Graliame, not mine,” 
said Morton, justly offended at being thus, in a manner, re- 
quired to approve of the sentence under which he had so nearly 
suffered. 

“Nay, but stay an instant,” said Claverhouse; “Evan- 
dale insists tha t I have some wrongs to acquit myself of in your 
instance. I trust I shall always make some difference between 
a high-minded gentleman who, though misguided, acts dpon 
generous principles and the crazy fanatical clowns yonder, 
with the bloodthirsty assassins who head them. Therefore, 
if they do not disperse upon your return, let me pray you, in- 
stantly come over to our army and surrender yourself, for, be 
assured, they cannot stand our assault for half an hour. If 
you will be ruled and do this, be sure to inquire for me. 
Monmouth, strange as it may seem, cannot protect you ; Dai- 


278 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


zell will not ; I both can and will, and I have promised to 
Evandale to do so if you will give me an opportunity.” 

“ I should owe Lord Evandale my thanks,” answered Mor- 
ton, coldly, “did not his scheme imply an opinion that I might 
be prevailed on to desert those with whom I am engaged. For 
yon. Colonel Grahame, if you will honor me with a different 
species of satisfaction, it is probable that, in an hour’s time, 
you will find me at the west end of Bothwell Bridge with my 
sword in my hand.” 

“ I shall be happy to meet you there,” said Claverhouse, 
“ but still more so should you think better on my first pro- 
posal.” 

They then saluted and parted. 

“ That is a pretty lad, Lumley,” said Claverhouse, address- 
ing himself to the other officer ; “ but he is a lost man, his 
blood be upon his head.” 

So saying, he addressed himself to the task of preparation 
for instant battle. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


But, hark ! the tent has changed its voice, 

There’s peace and rest nae langer. 

Burns. 

The Lowdien mallisha they 
Came with their coats of blew ; 

Five hundred men from London came, 

Claid in a reddish hue. 

Bothwell Lines. 

When Morton had left the well-ordered outposts of the reg- 
ular army, and arrived at those which were maintained by his 
own party, he could not but be peculiarly sensible of the dif- 
ference of discipline, and entertain a proportional degree of 
fear for the consequences. The same discords which agitated 
the counsels of the insurgents raged even among their mean- 
est followers ; and their pickets and patrols were more in- 
terested and occupied in disputing the true occasion and 
causes of wrath, and defining the limits of Erastian heresy, 
than in looking out for and observing the motions of their 
enemies, though within hearing of the royal drums and trum- 
pets. 

There was a guard, however, of the insurgent army, posted 
at the long and narrow bridge of Bothwell, over which the 
enemy must necessarily advance to the attack ; but, like the 
others, they were divided and disheartened ; and entertaining 
the idea that they were posted on a desperate service, they 
even meditated withdrawing themselves to the main body. 
This would have been utter ruin ; for on the defense or loss 
of this pass the fortune of the day was most likely to depend. 
All beyond the bridge was a plain open field, excepting a few 
thickets of no great depth, and, consequently, was ground on 
which the undisciplined forces of the insurgents, deficient as 
they were in cavalry and totally unprovided with artillery, were 
altogether unlikely to withstand the shock of regular troops. 

Morton, therefore, viewed the pass carefully, and formed 
the hope that, by occupying two or three houses on the left 
bank of the river, with the copse and thickets of alders and 
hazels that lined its side, and by blockading the passage itself, 

279 


W AVERLEY NOVELS 


m 

and shutting the gates of a portal which, according to the old 
fashion, was built on the central arch of the Bridge of Both- 
well, it might be easily defended against a very superior force. 
He issued directions accordingly, and commanded the parapets 
of the bridge, on the further side of the portal, to be thrown 
down, that they might afford no protection to the enemy when 
they should attempt the passage. Morton then conjured the 
party at this important post to be watchful and upon their 
guard, and promised them a speedy and strong reinforcement. 
He caused them to advance videttes beyond the river to watch 
the progress of the enemy, which outposts he directed should 
be withdrawn to the left bank as soon as they approached ; 
finally, he charged them to send regular information to the 
main body of all that they should observe. Men under arms, 
and in a situation of danger, are usually sufficiently alert in 
appreciating the merit of their officers. Morton’s intelligence 
and activity gained the confidence of these men, and with 
better hope and heart than before, they began to fortify their 
position in the manner he recommended, and saw him depart 
with three loud cheers. 

Morton now galloped hastily towards the main body of the 
insurgents, but was surprised and shocked at the scene of con- 
fusion and clamor which it exhibited at the moment when 
good order and concord were of such essential consequence. 
Instead of being drawn up in line of battle and listening to 
the commands of their officers, they were crowding together 
in a confused mass, that rolled and agitated itself like the 
waves of the sea, while a thousand tongues spoke, or rather 
vociferated, and not a single ear was found to listen. Scan- 
dalized at a scene so extraordinary, Morton endeavored to make 
his way through the press to learn, and if possible to remove, 
the cause of this so untimely disorder. While he is thus en- 
gagedwe shall make the reader acquainted with that which he 
was some time in discovering. 

The insurgents had proceeded to hold their day of humilia- 
tion, which, agreeably to the practice of the Puritans during 
the earlier 'Civil War, they considered as the most effectual 
mode of solving all difficulties and waiving all discussions. 
It was usual to name an ordinary week-day for this purpose ; 
but on this occasion the Sabbath itself was adopted, owing to 
the pressure of the time and the vicinity of the enemy. A 
temporary pulpit or tent was erected in the middle of the en- 
campment ; which, according to the fixed arrangement, was 
first to be occupied by the Reverend Peter Poundtext, to 
whom the post of honor was assigned as the eldest clergyman 


OLD MORTALITY 


281 


present. But as the worthy divine, with slow and stately 
steps, was advancing towards the rostrum which had been 
prepared for him, he was prevented by the unexpected ap- 
parition of Habakkuk Mucklewrath, the insane preacher, 
whose appearance had so much startled Morton at the first 
council of the insurgents after their victory at Loudon Hill. 
It is not known whether he was acting under the influence 
and instigation of the Cameronians, or whether he was merely 
compelled by his own agitated imagination and the tempta- 
tion of a vacant pulpit before him, to seize the opportunity 
of exhorting so respectable a congregation. It is only certain 
that he took occasion by the forelock, sprang into the pulpit, 
cast his eyes wildly round him, and, undismayed by the mur- 
murs of many of the audience, opened the Bible, read forth 
as his text from the thirteenth chapter of Deuteronomy, 
“ Certain men, the children of Belial, are gone out from 
among you, and have withdrawn the inhabitants of their city, 
saying, Let us go and serve other gods, which you have not 
known ; " and then rushed at once into the midst of his sub- 
ject. 

The harangue of Mucklewrath was as wild and extrava- 
gant as his intrusion was unauthorized and untimely ; but it 
was provokingly coherent, in so far as it turned entirely upon 
the very subjects of discord of which it had been agreed to 
adjourn the consideration until some more suitable oppor- 
tunity. Not a single topic did he omit which had offence in 
it ; and, after charging the Moderate party with heresy, with 
crouching to tyranny, with seeking to be at peace with God's 
enemies, he applied to Morton by name the charge that he 
had been one of those men of Belial who, in the words of his 
text, had gone out from among them, to withdraw the in- 
habitants of his city, and to go astray after false gods. To 
him, and all who followed him or approved of his conduct, 
Mucklewrath denounced fury and vengeance, and exhorted 
those who would hold themselves pure and undefiled to come 
up from the midst of them. 

“ Fear not," he said, “ because of the neighing of horses 
or the glittering of breastplates. Seek not aid of the Egyp- 
tians, because of the enemy, though they may be numerous as 
locusts and fierce as dragons. Their trust is not as our trust, 
nor their rock as our rock ; how else shall a thousand fly be- 
fore one, and two put ten thousand to the flight ? I dreamed 
it in th^ visions of the night, and the voice said, ‘ Habakkuk, 
take thy fan and purge the wheat from the chaff, that they 
be not both consumed with the fire of indignation and the 


282 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


lightning of fury/ Wherefore, I say, take this Henry Mor- 
ton — this wretched Achan, who hath brought the accursed 
thing among ye, and made himself brethren in the camp of 
the enemy — take him and stone him with stones, and there- 
after burn him with fire, that the wrath may depart from the 
children of the Covenant. He hath not taken a Babylonish 
garment, but he hath sold the garment of righteousness to the 
woman of Babylon ; he hath not taken two hundred shekels 
of fine silver, but he hath bartered the truth, which is more 
precious than shekels of silver or wedges of gold.” 

At this furious charge, brought so unexpectedly against 
one of their most active commanders, the audience broke out 
into open tumult, some demanding that there should instantly 
be a new election of officers, into which office none should 
here if ter be admitted who had, in their phrase, touched of 
that which was accursed, or temporized more or less with the 
heresies and corruptions of the times. While such was the 
demand of the Cameronians, they vociferated loudly that 
those who were not with them were against them ; that it was 
no time to relinquish the substantial part of the covenanted 
testimony of the church if they expected a blessing on their 
arms and their cause ; and that, in their eyes, a lukewarm 
Presbyterian was little better than a Prelatist, an Anti-Cov- 
enanter, and a Nullifidian. 

The parties accused repelled the charge of criminal com- 
pliance and defection from the truth with scorn and indigna- 
tion, and charged their accusers with breach of faith, as well 
as with wrong-headed and extravagant zeal in introducing 
such divisions into an army the joint strength of which could 
not, by the most sanguine, be judged more than sufficient to 
face their enemies. Poundtext and one or two others made 
some faint efforts to stem the increasing fury of the factious, 
exclaiming to those of the other party, in the words of the 
Patriarch — “ Let there be no strife, I pray thee, between me 
and thee, and between thy herdsmen and my herdsmen, for 
we be brethren.” Ho pacific overture could possibly obtain 
audience. It was in vain that even Burley himself, when he 
saw the dissension proceed to such ruinous lengths, exerted 
his stern and deep voice, commanding silence and obedience 
to discipline. The spirit of insubordination had gone forth, 
and it seemed as if the exhortation of Habakkuk Muckle- 
wrath had communicated a part of his frenzy to all who 
heard him. The wiser, or more timid, part of the assembly 
were already withdrawing themselves from the field, and giv- 
ing up their cause as lost. Others were moderating a har- 


OLD MORTALITY 


m 


monious call, as they somewhat improperly termed it, to new 
officers, and dismissing those formerly chosen, and that 
with a tumult and clamor worthy of the deficiency of good 
sense and good order implied in the whole transaction. It 
was at this moment, when Morton arrived in the field and 
joined the army, in total confusion, and on the point of dis- 
solving itself. His arrival occasioned loud exclamations of 
applause on the one side and of imprecation on the other. 

“ What means this ruinous disorder at such a moment ? " 
he exclaimed to Burley, who, exhausted with his vain exer- 
tions to restore order, was now leaning on his sword and re- 
garding the confusion with an eye of resolute despair. 

“ It means," he replied, “ that God has delivered us into 
the hands of our enemies." 

“ Not so," answered Morton, with a voice and gesture 
which compelled many to listen ; it is not God who deserts 
us, it is we who desert Him, and dishonor ourselves by dis- 
gracing and betraying the cause of freedom and religion. 
Hear me, " lie exclaimed, springing to the pulpit which Muckle- 
wrath had been compelled to evacuate by actual exhaustion — 
“I bring from the enemy an oiler to treat, if you incline to 
lay down your arms. I can assure you the means of making 
an honorable defence, if you are of more manly tempers. 
The time flies fast on. Let us resolve either for peace or war ; 
and let it not be said of us, in future days, that six thousand 
Scottish men in arms had neither courage to stand their ground 
and fight it out, nor prudence to treat for peace, nor even 
the coward’s wisdom to retreat in good time and with safety. 
What signifies quarrelling on minute points of church disci- 
pline, when the whole edifice is threatened with total destruc- 
tion ? 0, remember, my brethren, that the last and worst 

evil which God brought upon the people whom He had once 
chosen — the last and worst punishment of their blindness and 
hardness of heart — was the bloody dissensions which rent 
asunder their city, even when the enemy were thundering at 
its gates ! " 

Some of the audience testified their feeling of this exhorta- 
tion by loud exclamations of applause ; others by hooting and 
exclaiming — “ To your tents, 0 Israel !" 

Morton, who beheld the columns of the enemy already 
beginning to appear on the right bank, and directing their 
march upon the bridge, raised his voice to its utmost pitch, 
and, pointing at the same time with his hand, exclaimed, 
“ Silence your senseless clamors, yonder is the enemy ! On 
maintaining the bridge against him depend our lives, as well 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


£84 

as our hope to reclaim our laws and liberties. There shall at 
least one Scottish man die in their defence. Let any one who 
loves his country, follow me ! ” 

The multitude had turned their heads in the direction to 
which he pointed. The sight of the glittering files of the 
English Foot Guards, supported by several squadrons of horse, 
of the cannon which the artillerymen were busily engaged in 
planting against the bridge, of the plaided clans who seemed 
to search for a ford, and of the long succession of troops 
which were destined to support the attack, silenced at once 
their clamorous uproar, and struck them with as much con- 
sternation as if it were an unexpected apparition, and not the 
very thing which they ought to have been looking out for. 
They gazed on each other and on their leaders with looks re- 
sembling those that indicate the weakness of a patient when ex- 
hausted by a fit of frenzy. Yet when Morton, springing from 
the rostrum, directed his steps towards the bridge, he was 
followed by about a hundred of the young men who were 
particularly attached to his command. 

Burley turned to Macbriar. “Ephraim,” he said, “it is 
Providence points us the way, through the worldly wisdom of 
this latitudinarian youth. He that loves the light, let him 
follow Burley ! ” 

“ Tarry,” replied Macbriar ; “ it is not by Henry Morton, 
or such as he, that our goings-out and our comings-in are to 
be meted ; therefore tarry with us. I fear treachery to the 
host fro rn this N ullifidian Achan. Thou shalt not go with him. 
Thou art our chariots and our horsemen.” 

“ Hinder me not,” replied Burley ; “he hath well said that 
all is lost if the enemy win the bridge ; therefore let me not. 
Shall the children of this generation be called wiser or braver 
than the children of the sanctuary ? Array yourselves under 
your leaders ; let us not lack supplies of men and ammunition ; 
and accursed be he who turneth back from the work on this 
great day ! ” 

Having thus spoken, he hastily marched towards the bridge, 
and was followed by about two hundred of the most gallant 
and zealous of his party. There was a deep and disheartened 
pause when Morton and Burley departed. The commanders 
availed themselves of it to display their lines in some sort of 
order, and exhorted those who were most exposed to throw 
themselves upon their faces to avoid the cannonade which they 
might presently expect. The insurgents ceased to resist or to 
remonstrate ; but the awe which had silenced their discords 
had dismayed their courage. They suffered themselves to be 


OLD MORTALITY 


285 

formed into ranks with the docility of a flock of sheep, bnt 
without possessing, for the time, more resolution or energy ; 
for they experienced a sinking of the heart, imposed by the 
sudden and imminent approach of the danger which they had 
neglected to provide against while it was yet distant. They 
were, however, drawn out with some regularity ; and as they 
still possessed the appearance of an army, their leaders had 
only to hope that some favorable circumstance would restore 
their spirits and courage. 

Kettledrummle, Poundtext, Macbriar, and other preachers 
busied themselves in their ranks, and prevailed on them to 
raise a psalm. But the superstitious among them observed, 
as an ill omen, that their song of praise and triumph sunk into 
“a quaver of consternation,'' and resembled rather a peniten- 
tiary stave sung on the scaffold of a condemned criminal than 
the bold strain which had resounded along the wild heatli of 
Loudon Hill in anticipation of that day's victory. The melan- 
choly melody soon received a rough accompaniment ; the royal 
soldiers shouted, the Highlanders yelled, the cannon began to 
fire on one side, and the musketry on both, and the Bridge 
of Both well, with the banks adjacent, were involved in wreaths 
of smoke. 


CHAPTER XXXII 


As e’er ye saw the rain doun fa’, 

Or yet the arrow from the bow, 

Sae our Scots lads fell even down, 

And they lay slain on every knowe. 

Old Ballad. 

Ere Morton or Burley had reached the post to be defended, 
the enemy had commenced an attack upon it with great spirit. 
The two regiments of Foot Guards, formed into a close col- 
umn, rushed forward to the river ; one corps, deploying along 
the right bank, commenced a galling fire on the defenders of 
the pass, while the other pressed on to occupy the bridge. 
The insurgents sustained the attack with great constancy and 
courage ; and while part of their number returned the fire 
across the river, the rest maintained a discharge of musketry 
upon the further end of the bridge itself, and every avenue 
by which the soldiers endeavored to approach it. The latter 
suffered severely, but still gained ground, and the head of 
their column was already upon the bridge; when the arrival 
of Morton changed the scene ; and his Marksmen, commen- 
cing upon the pass a fire as well aimed as it was sustained and 
regular, compelled the assailants to retire with much loss. 
They were a second time brought up to the charge, and a sec- 
ond time repulsed with still greater loss, as Burley had now 
brought his party into action. The fire was continued with 
the utmost vehemence on both sides, and the issue of the action 
seemed very dubious. 

Monmouth, mounted on a superb -white charger, might be 
discovered on the top of the right bank of the river, urging, 
entreating, and animating the exertions of his soldiers. By 
his orders, the cannon, which had hitherto been employed in 
annoying the distant main body of the Presbyterians, were 
now turned upon the defenders of the bridge. But these 
tremendous engines, being wrought much more slowly than in 
modern times, did not produce the effect of annoying or terri- 
fying the enemy to the extent proposed. The insurgents, 
sheltered by copsewood along the bank of the river, or stationed 
in the houses already mentioned, fought under cover, while 


OLD MORTALITY 


287 


the Royalists, owing to the precautions of Morton, were entirely 
exposed. The defence was so protracted and obstinate that 
the royal generals began to fear it might be ultimately suc- 
cessful. While Monmouth threw himself from his horse, 
and, rallying the Foot Guards, brought them on to another 
close and desperate attack, he was warmly seconded by Dalzell, 
who, putting himself at the head of a body of Lennox High- 
landers, rushed forward with their tremendous war-cry of 
Loch Sloy.* The ammunition of the defenders of the bridge 
began to fail at this important crisis ; messages, commanding 
and imploring succors and supplies, were in vain despatched, 
one after the other, to the main body of the Presbyterian 
army, which remained inactively drawn up on the open fields 
in the rear. Fear, consternation, and misrule had gone abroad 
among them, and while the post on which their safety de- 
pended required to be instantly and powerfully reinforced, 
there remained none either to command or to obey. 

As the fire of the defenders of the bridge began to slacken, 
that of the assailants increased, and in its turn became more 
fatal. Animated by the example and exhortations of their 
generals, they obtained a footing upon the bridge itself, and 
began to remove the obstacles by which it was blockaded. 
The portal-gate was broken open, the beams, trunks of trees, 
and other materials of the barricade pulled down and thrown 
into the river. This was not accomplished without opposition. 
Morton and Burley fought in the very front of their followers, 
and encouraged them with their pikes, halberds, and partizans 
to encounter the bayonets of the Guards and the broadswords 
of the Highlanders. But those behind the leaders began to 
shrink from the unequal combat, and fly singly, or in parlies 
of two or three, towards the main body, until the remainder 
were, by the mere weight of the hostile column as much as by 
their weapons, fairly forced from the bridge. The passage 
being now open, the enemy began to pour over. But the 
bridge was long and narrow, which rendered the manoeuvre 
slow as well as dangerous ; and those who first passed had still 
to force the houses, from the windows of which the Cov- 
enanters continued to fire. 

Burley and Morton were near each other at this critical 
moment. 

“ There is yet time,” said the former, “ to bringdown horse 
to attack them, ere they can get into order ; and, with the aid 
of God, we may thus regain the bridge ; hasten thou to bring 
them down, while I make the defence good with this old and 
wearied body,” 


* See Note 30. 


288 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


Morton saw the importance of the advice, and, throwing 
himself on the horse which Ouddie held in readiness for him 
behind the thicket, galloped towards a body of cavalry which 
chanced to be composed entirely of Cameronians. Ere he 
could speak his errand or utter his orders, he was saluted by 
the execrations of the whole body. 

“He flies!” they exclaimed — “the cowardly traitor flies 
like a hart from the hunters, and hath left valiant Burley in 
the midst of the slaughter ! ” 

“ I do not fly,” said Morton. “ I come to lead you to the 
attack. Advance boldly, and we shall yet do well.” 

“Follow him not! Follow him not!” — such were the 
tumultuous exclamations which resounded from the ranks; 
“ he hath sold you to the sword of the enemy !” 

And while Morton argued, entreated, and commanded in 
vain, the moment was lost in which the advance might have 
been useful ; and the outlet from the bridge, with all its de- 
fences, being in complete possession of the enemy, Burley and 
his remaining followers were driven back upon the main 
body, to whom the spectacle of their hurried and harassed 
retreat was far from restoring the confidence which they so 
much wanted. 

In the meanwhile, the forces of the king crossed the bridge 
at their leisure, and, securing the pass, formed in line of bat- 
tle ; while Claverhouse, who, like a hawk perched on a rock, 
and eying the time to pounce on its prey, had watched the 
event of the action from the opposite bank, now passed the 
bridge at the head of his cavalry, at full trot, and, leading 
them in squadrons through the intervals and round the flanks 
of the royal infantry, formed them in line on the moor, and 
led them to the charge, advancing in front with one large 
body, while other two divisions threatened the flanks of the 
Covenanters. Their devoted army was now in that situation 
when the slightest demonstration towards an attack was cer- 
tain to inspire panic. Their broken spirits and disheartened 
courage were unable to endure the charge of the cavalry, at- 
tended with all its terrible accompaniments of sight and sound 
— the rush of the horses at full speed, the shaking of the earth 
under their feet, the glancing of the swords, the waving of 
the plumes, and the fierce shouts of the cavaliers. The front 
ranks hardly attempted one ill-directed and disorderly fire, 
and their rear were broken and flying in confusion ere the 
charge had been completed ; and in less than five minutes the 
horsemen were mixed with them, cutting and hewing without 
mercy. The voice of Claverhouse was heard, even above the 



Rout and slaughter of the Puritans after the battle or Botmvell Bridge. 


























































OLD MORTALITY 


289 


din of conflict, exclaiming to his soldiers — “ Kill — kill ! no 
quarter ! think on Richard Grahame ! ” The dragoons, many 
of whom had shared the disgrace of Loudon Hill, required no 
exhortations to vengeance as easy as it was complete. Their 
swords drank deep of slaughter among the unresisting fugi- 
tives. Screams for quarter were only answered by the shouts 
with which the pursuers accompanied their blows, and the 
whole field presented one general scene of confused slaughter, 
flight, and pursuit. 

About twelve hundred of the insurgents who remained in 
a body a little apart from the rest, and out of the line of the 
charge of cavalry, threw down their arms and surrendered at 
discretion, upon the approach of the Duke of Monmouth at 
the head of the infantry. That mild-tempered nobleman in- 
stantly allowed them the quarter which they prayed for ; and, 
galloping about through the field, exerted himself as much 
to stop the slaughter as he had done to obtain the victory. 
While busied in this humane task he met with General Dal- 
zell, who was encouraging the fierce Highlanders and royal 
volunteers to show their zeal for king and country by quench- 
ing the flame of the rebellion with the blood of the rebels. 

“Sheathe your sword, I command you, General!” ex- 
claimed the Duke, “ and sound the retreat. Enough of blood 
has been shed ; give quarter to the king’s misguided subjects.” 

“ I obey your Grace,” said the old man, wiping his bloody 
sword and returning it to the scabbard ; “but I warn you, at 
the same time, that enough has not been done to intimidate 
these desperate rebels. Has not your Grace heard that Basil 
Olifant has collected several gentlemen and men of substance 
in the west, and is in the act of marching to join them ?” 

“ Basil Olifant ! ” said the Duke. “ Who or what is he ? ” 

“ The next male heir to the last Earl of Torwood. He is 
disaffected to government from his claim to the estate being 
set aside in favor of Lady Margaret Bellenden ; and I suppose 
the hope of getting the inheritance has set him in motion.” 

“ Be his motives what they will,” replied Monmouth, “he 
must soon disperse his followers, for this army is too much 
broken to rally again. Therefore, once more, I command that 
the pursuit be stopped.” 

“It is your Grace’s province to command, and to be re- 
sponsible for your commands,” answered Dalzell, as he gave 
reluctant orders for checking the pursuit. 

But the fiery and vindictive Grahame was already far out 
of hearing of the signal of retreat, and continued with his 
cavalry an unwearied and bloody pursuit, breaking, dispers- 


290 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


ing, and cutting to pieces all the insurgents whom they could 
come up with. 

Burley and Morton were both hurried off the field by the 
confused tide of fugitives. They made some attempt to defend 
the streets of the town of Hamilton ; but, while laboring to 
induce the fliers to face about and stand to their weapons, 
Burley received a bullet which broke his sword-arm. 

“May the hand be withered that shot the shot \ ” he ex- 
claimed, as the sword which he was waving over his head fell 
powerless to his side. “I can fight no longer.”* 

Then, turning his horse’s head, lie retreated out of the 
confusion. Morton also now saw that the continuing his un- 
availing efforts to rally the fliers could only end in his own 
death or captivity, and, followed by the faithful Cuddie, he 
extricated himself from the press, and, being well mounted, 
leaped his horse over one or two enclosures and got into the 
open country. 

From the first hill which they gained in their flight they 
looked back, and beheld the whole country covered with their 
fugitive companions, and with the pursuing dragoons, whose 
wild shouts and halloo, as they did execution on the groups 
whom they overtook, mingled with the groans and screams of 
their victims, rose shrilly up the hill. 

“It is impossible they can ever make head again,” said 
Morton. 

“ The head’s taen aff them, as clean as I wad bite it aff a 
sybo ! ” rejoined Cuddie. “Eh, Lord! see how the broad- 
swords are flashing ! war’s a fearsome thing. They’ll be 
cunning that catches me at this wark again. But, for God’s 
sake, sir, let us mak for some strength ! ” 

Mortou saw the necessity of following the advice of his 
trusty squire. They resumed a rapid pace, and continued it 
without intermission, directing their course towards the wild 
and mountainous country, where they thought it likely some 
part of the fugitives might draw together, for the sake either 
of making defence or of obtaining terms. 

* This incident, and Burley’s exclamation, are taken from the records. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


They require 

Of Heaven the hearts of lions, breath of tigers, 

Yea and the fierceness too. 

Fletcher. 

Evening had fallen ; and for the last two hours they had 
seen none of their ill-fated companions, when Morton and his 
faithful attendant gained the moorland, and approached a large 
and solitary farmhouse, situated in the entrance of a wild 
glen, far remote from any other habitation. 

“Our horses/' said Morton, “will carry us no farther 
without rest or food, and we must try to obtain them here, if 
possible." 

So speaking, he led the way to the house. The place had 
every appearance of being inhabited. There was smoke issuing 
from the chimney in a considerable volume, and the marks of 
recent hoofs were visible around the door. They could even 
hear the murmuring of human voices within the house. But 
all the lower windows were closely secured ; and when they 
knocked at the door no answer was returned. After vainly 
calling and entreating admittance, they withdrew to the stable 
or shed in order to accommodate their horses, ere they used 
further means of gaining admission. In this place they found 
ten or twelve horses, whose state of fatigue, as well as the 
military yet disordered appearance of their saddles and ac- 
coutrements, plainly indicated that their owners were fugitive 
insurgents in their own circumstances. 

“ This meeting bodes luck," said Cuddie ; “and they hae 
walth o' beef, that's ae thing certain, for here's a raw hide that 
has been about the hurdies o' a stot not half an hour syne : 
it's warm yet." 

Encouraged by these appearances, they returned again to 
the house, and, announcing themselves as men in the same 
predicament with the inmates, clamored loudly for admit- 
tance. 

“ Whoever ye be," answered a stern voice from the win- 
dow, after a long and obdurate silence, “disturb not those 


m 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


who mourn for the desolation and captivity of the land, and 
search out the causes of wrath and of defection, that the 
stumbling-blocks may be removed over which we have stum- 
bled." 

“ They are wild western Whigs," said Caddie, in a whisper 
to his master, “ I ken by their language. Fiend hae me, if I 
like to venture on them ! " 

Morton, however, again called to the party within, and 
insisted on admittance ; but, finding his entreaties still dis- 
regarded, he opened one of the lower windows, and pushing 
asunder the shutters, which were but slightly secured, stepped 
into the large kitchen from which the voice had issued. Cud die 
followed him, muttering betwixt his teeth, as he put his head 
within the window, “ That he hoped there was nae scalding 
brose on the fire and master and servant both found them- 
selves in the company of ten or twelve armed men, seated 
around the fire, on which refreshments were preparing, and 
busied apparently in their devotions, 

In the sfffiomy countenances, illuminated by the firelight, 
Morton had no difficulty in recognizing several of those zeal- 
ots who had most distinguished themselves by their intemper- 
ate opposition to all moderate measures, together with their 
noted pastor, the fanatical Ephraim Macbriar, and the maniac, 
Habakkuk Mucklewrath. The Cameronians neither stirred 
tongue nor hand to welcome their brethren in misfortune, but 
continued to listen to the low murmured exercise of Macbriar, 
as he prayed that the Almighty would lift up His hand from 
His people, and not make an end in the day of His anger. 
That they were conscious of the presence of the intruders 
only appeared from the sullen and indignant glances which 
they shot at them, from time to time, as their eyes encoun- 
tered. 

Morton, finding into what unfriendly society he had un- 
wittingly intruded, began to think of retreating ; but, on 
turning his head, observed with some alarm that two strong 
men had silently placed themselves beside the window through 
which they had entered. One of these ominous sentinels 
whispered to Cuddie, “ Son of that precious woman, Mause 
Headrigg, do not cast thy lot farther with this child of treach- 
ery and perdition. Pass on thy way, and tarry not, for the 
avenger of blood is behind thee." 

With this he pointed to the window, out of which Caddie 
jumped without hesitation ; for the intimation he had received 
plainly implied the personal danger he would otherwise incur. 

“ Winnocks are no lucky wP me," was his first reflection 


OLD MORTALITY 


293 


when he was in the open air ; his next was upon the probable 
fate of his master. “ They’ll kill him, the murdering loons, 
and think they’re doing a gude turn ! hut I’se tak the back 
road for Hamilton, and see if I canna get some o' our ain folk 
to bring help in time of needcessity.” 

So saying, Cuddie hastened to the stable, and taking the 
best horse he could find instead of his own tired animal, he 
galloped off in the direction he proposed. 

The noise of his horse’s tread alarmed for an instant the 
devotion of the fanatics. As it died in the distance, Macbriar 
brought his exercise to a conclusion, and his audience raised 
themselves from the stooping posture and lowering, downward 
look with which they had listened to it, and all fixed their 
eyes sternly on Henry Morton. 

“ You bend strange countenances on me, gentlemen,” said 
he, addressing them. “ I am totally ignorant in what man- 
ner I can have deserved them.” 

“ Out upon thee ! out upon thee!” exclaimed Muckle- 
wrath, starting up : “the Word that thou hast spurned shall 
become a rock to crush and to bruise thee ; the spear which 
thou wouldst have broken shall pierce thy side ; we have 
prayed, and wrestled, and petitioned for an offering to atone 
the sins of the congregation, and lo ! the very head of the 
offence is delivered into our hand. He hath burst in like a 
thief through the window ; he is a ram caught in the thicket, 
whose blood shall be a drink-offering to redeem vengeance 
from the church, and the place shall from henceforth be called 
Jehovah- Jireh, for the sacrifice is provided. Up, then, and 
bind the victim with cords to the horns of the altar ! ” 

There was a movement among the party ; and deeply did 
Morton regret at that moment the incautious haste with 
which he had ventured into their company. He was armed 
only with his sword, for he had left his pistols at the bow T of 
his saddle ; and, as the Whigs were all provided with fire- 
arms, there was little or no chance of escaping from them by 
resistance. 

The interposition, however, of Macbriar protected him for 
the moment. “ Tarry yet a while, brethren ; let us not use 
the sword rashly, lest the load of innocent blood lie heavy on 
us. Come,” he said, addressing himself to Morton, “ w r e will 
reckon with thee ere we avenge the cause thou hast betrayed. 
Hast thou not,” he continued, made thy face as hard as 
flint against the truth in all the assemblies of the host ?” 

“ He has — he has,” murmured the deep voices* of the as- 
sistants. 


XVAVERLEY NOVELS 


204 


“ He hath ever urged peace with the Malignants," said one. 

“ And pleaded for the dark and dismal guilt of the Indul- 
gence," said another. 

“ And would have surrendered the host into the hands of 
Monmouth," echoed a third ; “ and was the first to desert the 
honest and manly Burley, while he yet resisted at the pass. I 
saw him on the moor, with his horse bloody with spurring, 
long ere the firing had ceased at the bridge." 

“Gentlemen," said Morton, “if you mean to hear me 
down by clamor, and take my life without hearing me, it is 
perhaps a thing in your power ; but you will sin before God 
and man by the commission of such a murder." 

“I say, hear the youth," said Macbriar; “for Heaven 
knows our bowels have yearned for him, that he might be 
brought to see the truth, and exert his gifts in its defence. 
But he is blinded by his carnal knowledge, and has spurned 
the light when it blazed before him." 

Silence being obtained, Morton proceeded to assert the 
good faith which he had displayed in the treaty with Mon- 
mouth, and the active part he had borne in the subsequent 
action. 

“ I may not, gentlemen," he said, “ be fully able to go the 
lengths you desire, in assigning to those of my own religion 
the means of tyrannizing over others ; but none shall go farther 
in asserting our own lawful freedom. And I must needs aver 
that, had others been of my mind in counsel, or disposed to 
stand by my side in battle, we should this evening, instead of 
being a defeated and discordant remnant, have sheathed our 
weapons in an useful and honorable peace, or brandished them 
triumphantly after a decisive victory." 

“He hath spoken the word," said one of the assembly ; 
“he hath avowed his carnal self-seeking and Erastianism : let 
him die the death ! " 

“ Peace yet again," said Macbriar, “ for I will try him 
further. Was it not by thy means that the Malignant Evan- 
dale twice escaped from death and captivity ? Was it not 
through thee that Miles Bellenden and his garrison of cut- 
throats were saved from the edge of the sword ? " 

“I am proud to say that you have spoken the truth in both 
instances," replied Morton. 

“Lolyou see," said Macbriar, “again hath his mouth 
spoken it. And didst thou not do this for the sake of a Mid- 
ianitish woman, one of the spawn of Prelacy, a toy with which 
the arch-enemy’s trap is baited ? Didst thou not do all this 
for the sake of Edith Bellenden ? " 


OLD MORTALITY 


m 


“ You are incapable,” answered Morton, boldly, “of ap- 
preciating my feelings towards that young lady ; but all that 
1 have done I would have done had she never existed.” 

“ Thou art a hardy rebel to the truth,” said another dark- 
browed man ; “and didst thou not so act that, by conveying 
away the aged woman, Margaret Bellenden, and her grand- 
daughter, thou mightest thwart the wise and godly project of 
John Balfour of Burley for bringing forth to battle Basil 
Olifant, who had agreed to take the field if he were insured 
possession of these women’s worldly endowments ? ” 

“I never heard of such a scheme,” said Morton, “and 
therefore I could not thwart it. But does your religion per- 
mit you to take such uncreditable and immoral modes of re- 
cruiting ? ” 

“ Peace,” said Macbriar, somewhat disconcerted ; “ it is 
not for thee to instruct tender professors, or to construe 
Covenant obligations. For the rest, you have acknowledged 
enough of sin and sorrowful defection to draw down defeat 
on a host, were it as numerous as the sands on the sea-shore. 
And it is our judgment that we are not free to let you pass 
from us safe and in life, since Providence hath given you into 
our hands at the moment that we prayed with godly Joshua, 
saying, ‘ What shall we say when Israel turneth their backs 
before their enemies ? J Then earnest thou, delivered to us 
as it were by lot, that thou mightest sustain the punishment 
of one that hath wrought folly in Israel. Therefore, mark my 
words. This is the Sabbath, and our hand shall not be on 
thee to spill thy blood upon this day ; but when the twelfth 
hour shall strike, it is a token that thy time on earth hath 
run ! Wherefore improve thy span, for it flitteth fast away. 
Seize on the prisoner, brethren, and take his weapon.” 

The command was so unexpectedly given, and so suddenly 
executed by those of the party who had gradually closed be- 
hind and around Morton, that he was overpowered, disarmed, 
and a horse-girth passed round his arms before he could offer 
any effectual resistance. When this was accomplished, a 
dead and stern silence took place. The fanatics ranged 
themselves around a large oaken table, placing Morton among 
them bound and helpless, in such a manner as to be opposite 
to the clock which was to strike his knell. Food was placed 
before them, of which they offered their intended victim a 
share ; but, it will readily be believed, he had little appetite. 
When this was removed, the party resumed their devotions. 
Macbriar, whose fierce zeal did not perhaps exclude some 
feelings of doubt and compunction, began to expostulate in 


296 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


prayer, as if to wring from the Deity a signal that the bloody 
sacrifice they proposed was an acceptable service. The eyes 
and ears of his hearers were anxiously strained, as if to gain 
some sight or sound which might be converted or wrested into 
a type of approbation, and ever and anon dark looks were 
turned on the dial-plate of the timepiece, to watch its prog- 
ress towards the moment of execution. 

Morton’s eye frequently took the same course, with the 
sad reflection that there appeared no possibility of his life being 
expanded beyond the narrow segment which the index had 
yet to travel on the circle until it arrived at the fatal hour. 
Faith in his religion, with a constant unyielding principle of 
honor, and the sense of conscious innocence, enabled him to 
pass through this dreadful interval with less agitation than he 
himself could have expected had the situation been prophesied 
to him. Yet there was a want of that eager and animating 
sense of right which supported him in similar circumstances, 
when in the power of Claverhouse. Then he was conscious 
that amid the spectators were many who were lamenting his 
condition, and some who applauded his conduct. But now, 
among these pale-eyed and ferocious zealots, whose hardened 
brows were soon to be bent, not merely with indifference, but 
with triumph, upon his execution — without a friend to speak 
a kindly word, or give a look either of sympathy or encourage- 
ment — awaiting till the sword destined to slay him crept out 
of the scabbard gradually, and as it were by straw-breadths, 
and condemned to drink the bitterness of death drop by drop 
— it is no wonder that his feelings were less composed than 
they had been on any former occasion of danger. His destined 
executioners, as he gazed around them, seemed to alter their 
forms and features, like spectres in a feverish dream ; their 
figures became larger, and their faces more disturbed ; and, 
as an excited imagination predominated over the realities 
which his eyes received, he could have thought himself sur- 
rounded rather by a band of demons than of human beings ; 
the walls seemed to drop with blood, and the light tick of the 
clock thrilled on his ear with such loud, painful distinctness 
as if each sound were the prick of a bodkin inflicted on tli3 
naked nerve of the organ. 

It was with pain that he felt his mind wavering while on 
the brink between this and the future world. He made % 
strong effort to compose himself to devotional exercises, and, 
unequal, during that fearful strife of nature, to arrange his 
own thoughts into suitable expressions, he had, instinctively, 
recourse to the petition for deliverance and for composure of 


OLD MORTALITY 


m 


spirit which is to be found in the Book of Common Prayer of 
the Church of England. Macbriar, whose family were of 
that persuasion, instantly recognized the words, which the 
unfortunate prisoner pronounced half aloud. 

“ There lacked but this,” he said, his pale cheek kindling 
with resentment, “ to root out my carnal reluctance to see his 
blood spilled He is a Prelatist, who has sought the camp 
under the disguise of an Erastian, and all, and more than all, 
that has been said of him must needs be verity. His blood 
be on his head, the deceiver ! let him go down to Topliet with 
the ill-mumbled mass which he calls a prayer-book in his right 
hand.” 

“I take up my song against him ! ” exclaimed the maniac. 
“ As the sun went back on the dial ten degrees for intimating 
the recovery of holy Hezekiah, so shall it now go forward, 
that the wicked may be taken away from among the people, 
and the Covenant established in its purity.” 

He sprang to a chair with an attitude of frenzy, in order 
to anticipate the fatal moment by putting the index forward ; 
and several of the party began to make ready their slaughter- 
weapons for immediate execution, when MucklewratlEs hand 
was arrested by one of his companions. 

“ Hist ! ” he said ; “ I hear a distant noise.” 

“ It is the rushing of the brook over the pebbles,” said 
one. 

“ It is the sough of the wind among the bracken,” said 
another. 

“ It is the gallopingof horse,” said Morton to himself, his 
sense of hearing rendered acute by the dreadful situation in 
which he stood. “ God grant they may come as my deliv- 
erers ! ” 

The noise approached rapidly, and became more and more 
distinct. 

“ It is horse,” cried Macbriar. “Look out and descry 
who they are.” 

“ The enemy are upon us !” cried one who had opened 
the window in obedience to his order. 

A thick trampling and loud voices were heard immediately 
round the house. Some rose to resist, and some to escape ; 
the doors and windows were forced at once, and the red coats 
of the troopers appeared in the apartment. 

“ Have at the bloody rebels ! Bemember Cornet Grahame ! ” 
was shouted on every side. 

The lights were struck down, but the dubious glare of the 
fire enabled them to continue the fray. Several pistol-shots 


WAVERLEY NOVEL a 


were fired ; the Whig who stood next to Morton received a 
shot as he was rising, stumbled against the prisoner, whom he 
bore down with his weight, and lay stretched above him a 
dying man. This accident probably saved Morton from the 
damage he might otherwise have received in so close a strug- 
gle, where firearms were discharged and sword-blows given for 
upwards of five minutes. 

“Is the prisoner safe ?’’ exclaimed the well-known voice 
of Claverhouse ; “ look about for him, and despatch the Whig 
dog who is groaning there." 

Both orders were executed. The groans of the wounded 
man were silenced by a thrust with a rapier, and Morton, dis- 
encumbered of his weight, was speedily raised and in the arms 
of the faithful Cuddie, who blubbered for joy when he found 
that the blood with which his master was covered had not 
flowed from his own veins. A whisper in Morton’s ear, while 
his trusty follower relieved him from his bonds, explained 
the secret of the very timely appearance of the soldiers.* 

“ I fell into Claverhouse’s party when I was seeking for 
some o’ our ain folk to help ye out o’ the hands of the Whigs, 
sae being atween the deil and the deep sea, I e'en thought it 
best to bring him on wi’ me, for he’ll be wearied wi’ felling 
folk the night, and the morn’s a new day, and Lord Evandale 
awes ye a day inhar’st ; and Monmouth gies quarter, the dra- 

? oons tell me, for the asking. Sae haud up your heart, an’ 
’se warrant we’ll do a’ weel eneugh yet.’’ 

* See Morton’s Capture and Release. Note 31. 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife! 

To all the sensual world proclaim, 

One crowded hour of glorious life 
Is worth an age without a name. 

Anonymous. 

When - the desperate affray had ceased, Claverhouse com- 
manded his soldiers to remove the dead bodies, to refresh them- 
selves and their horses, and prepare for passing the night at 
the farmhouse, and for marching early in the ensuing morn- 
ing. He then turned his attention to Morton, and there was 
politeness, and even kindness, in the manner in which he ad- 
dressed him. 

“You would have saved yourself risk from both sides, Mr. 
Morton, if you had honored my counsel yesterday morning 
with some attention ; but I respect your motives. You area 
prisoner-of-war at the disposal of the king and council, but you 
shall be treated with no incivility ; and I will be satisfied with 
your parole that you will not attempt an escape." 

When Morton had passed his word to that effect, Claver- 
house bowed civilly, and, turning away from him, called for 
his sergeant-major. 

“How many prisoners, Halliday, and how many killed ?" 

“ Three killed in the house, sir, two cut down in the court, 
and one in the garden — six in all ; four prisoners." 

“ Armed or unarmed ? " said Claverhouse. 

“ Three of them armed to the teeth," answered Halliday ; 
“ one without arms, he seems to be a preacher." 

“Ay, the trumpeter to the long-ear'd rout, I suppose," 
replied Claverhouse, glancing slightly round upon his victims ; 
“ I will talk with him to-morrow. Take the other three down 
to the yard, draw out two files, and fire upon them ; and, d'ye 
hear, make a memorandum in the orderly book of three rebels 
taken in arms and shot, with the date and name of the place — 
Drumshinnel, I think, they call it. Look after the preacher 
till to-morrow ; as he was not armed, he must undergo a short 
semination ; or better, perhaps, take him before the privy 


300 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


council ; I think they should relieve me of a share of this dis- 
gusting drudgery. Let Mr. Morton he civilly used, and see 
that the men look well after their horses ; and let my groom 
wash Wildblood's shoulder with some vinegar, the saddle has 
touched him a little.” 

All these various orders — for life and death, the securing 
of his prisoners, and the washing his charger's shoulder — were 
given in the same unmoved and equable voice, of which no ac- 
cent or tone intimated that the speaker considered one direc- 
tion as of more importance than another. 

The Cameronians, so lately about to be the whiling agents 
of a bloody execution, were now themselves to undergo it. 
They seemed prepared alike for either extremity, nor did any 
of them show the least sign of fear, when ordered to leave 
the room for the purpose of meeting instant death. Their 
severe enthusiasm sustained them in that dreadful moment, 
and they departed with a firm look and in silence, excepting 
that one of them, as he left the apartment, looked Claver- 
house full in the face, and pronounced, with a stern and 
steady voice — “ Mischief shall haunt the violent man !” to 
which Grahame only answered by a smile of contempt. 

They had no sooner left the room than Claverhouse ap- 
plied himself to some food, which one or two of his party had 
hastily provided, and invited Morton to follow his example, 
observing, it had been a busy day for them both. Morton 
declined eating ; for the sudden change of circumstances — 
the transition from the verge of the grave to a prospect of 
life — had occasioned a dizzy revulsion in his whole system. 
But the same confused sensation was accompanied by a burn- 
ing thirst, and he expressed his wish to drink. 

“ I will pledge you, with all my heart,” said Claverhouse ; 
“for here is a black-jack full of ale, and good it must be, if 
there be good in the country, for the Whigs never miss to 
find it out. My service to you, Mr. Morton,” he said, filling 
one horn of ale for himself and handing another to his pris- 
oner. 

Morton raised it to his head, and was just about to drink 
when the discharge of carabines beneath the window, followed 
by a deep and hollow groan, repeated twice or thrice, and 
more faint at each interval, announced the fate of the three 
men who had just left them. Morton shuddered and set 
down the untasted cup. 

“ You are but young in these matters, Mr, Morton,” said 
Claverhouse, after he had very composedly finished his 

draught j “ and I do not think the worse of you as a young 


OLD MORTALITY 


301 


soldier for appearing to feel them acutely. But habit, duty, 
and necessity reconcile men to everything.” 

“ I trust,” said Morton, “ they will never reconcile me to 
such scenes as these.” 

“ You would hardly believe,” said Claverhouse, in reply, 
i( that, in the beginning of my military career, I had as much 
aversion to seeing blood spilled as ever man felt ; it seemed to 
me to be wrung from my own heart ; and yet, if you trust 
one of those Whig fellows, he will tell you I drink a warm cup 
of it every morning before I breakfast.* But in truth, Mr. 
Morton, why should we care so much for death, light upon us 
or around us whenever it may ? Men die daily : not a hell 
tolls the hour but it is the death-note of some one or other ; 
and why hesitate to shorten the span of others, or take over- 
anxious care to prolong our own ? It is all a lottery : when 
the hour of midnight came, you were to die ; it has struck, 
you are alive and safe, and the lot has fallen on those fellows 
who were to murder you. It is not the expiring pang that is 
worth thinking of in an event that must happen one day, and 
may befall us on any given moment ; it is the memory which 
the soldier leaves behind him, like the long train of light that 
follows the sunken sun, that is all which is worth caring for, 
which distinguishes the death of the brave or the ignoble. 
When I think of death, Mr. Morton, as a thing worth think- 
ing of, it is in the hope of pressing one day some well-fought 
and hard-won field of battle, and dying with the shout of 
victory in my ear ; that would be worth dying for, and more, 
it would be worth having lived for ! ” 

At the moment when Graliame delivered these sentiments, 
his eye glancing with the martial enthusiasm which formed 
such a prominent feature in his character, a gory figure, which 
seemed to rise out of the floor of the apartment, stood upright 
before him, and presented the wild person and hideous feat- 
ures of the maniac so often mentioned. His face, where it 
was not covered with blood-streaks, was ghastly pale, for the 
hand of death was on him. He bent upon Claverhouse eyes 
in which the gray light of insanity still twinkled, though just 
about to flit forever, and exclaimed, with his usual wildness 
of ejaculation, “ Wilt thou trust in tliy bow and in thy spear, 
in thy steed and in thy banner ? And shall not God visit 
thee for innocent blood ? Wilt thou glory in thy wisdom, 
and in thy courage, and in thy might ? And shall not the 
Lord judge thee ? Behold the princes, for whom thou hast 

* The Author is uncertain whether this was ever said of Claverhouse. But it was 
currently reported of Sir Robert Grierson of Lagg, another of the persecutors, that 
a cup of wine placed in bis hand turned to clotted blood. 


302 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


sold thy soul to the destroyer, shall be removed from their 
place, and banished to other lands, and their names shall be 
a desolation, and an astonishment, and a hissing, and a curse. 
And thou, who hast partaken of the wine-cup of fury, and 
hast been drunken and mad because thereof, the wish of thy 
heart shall be granted to thy loss, and the hope of thine own 
pride shall destroy thee. I summon thee, John Grahame, to 
appear before the tribunal of God, to answer for this innocent 
blood, and the seas besides which thou hast shed.” 

He drew his right hand across his bleeding face and held 
it up to heaven as he uttered these words, which he spoke 
very loud, and then added more faintly, “ How long, 0 Lord, 
holy and true, dost thou not judge and avenge the blood of 
thy saints ! ” 

As he uttered the last word he fell backwards without an 
attempt to save himself, and was a dead man ere his head 
touched the floor. 

Morton was much shocked at this extraordinary scene, and 
the prophecy of the dying man, which tallied so strangely 
with the wish which Claverhouse had just expressed ; and he 
often thought of it afterwards when that wish seemed to be 
accomplished. Two of the dragoons who were in the apart- 
ment, hardened as they were, and accustomed to such scenes, 
showed great consternation at the sudden apparition, the event, 
and the words which preceded it. Claverhouse alone was un- 
moved. At the fi rst instant of MucklewratlJs appearance he 
had put his hand to his pistol, but on seeing the situation of 
the wounded wretch, he immediately withdrew it, and listened 
with great composure to his dying exclamation. 

When he dropped, Claverhouse asked in an unconcerned 
tone of voice — “How came the fellow here? Speak, you 
staring fool!” he added, addressing the nearest dragoon, 
“ unless you would have me think you such a poltroon as to 
fear a dying man.” 

The dragoon crossed himself, and replied with a faltering 
voice — “ That the dead fellow had escaped their notice when 
they removed the other bodies, as he chanced to have fallen 
where a cloak or two had been flung aside and covered him.” 

“Take him away now, then, you gaping idiot, and see 
that he does not bite you, to put an old proverb to shame. 
This is a new incident, Mr. Morton, that dead men should 
rise and push us from our stools. I must see that my black- 
guards grind their swords sharper ; they used not to do their 
work so slovenly. But we have had a busy day ; they are 
tired, and their blades blunted with their bloody work; and 


OLD MORTALITY 


m 

1 suppose yon, Mr. Morton, as well as I, are well disposed for 
a few hours* repose.** 

So saying, he yawned, and taking a candle which a soldier 
had placed ready, saluted Morton courteously, and walked to 
the apartment which had been prepared for him. 

Morton was also accommodated for the evening with a 
separate room. Being left alone, his first occupation was the 
returning thanks to Heaven for redeeming him from danger, 
even through the instrumentality of those who seemed his 
most dangerous enemies ; he also prayed sincerely for the 
Divine assistance in guiding his course through times which 
held out so many dangers and so many errors. And having 
thus poured out his spirit in prayer before the Great Being 
who gave it, he betook himself to the repose which he so much 
required. 


CHAPTER XXXV 


The charge is prepared, the lawyers are met, 

The j udges all ranged — a terrible show ! 

Beggar's Opera. 

So deep was the slumber which succeeded the agitation and 
embarrassment of the preceding day, that Morton hardly knew 
where he was when it was broken by the tramp of horses, the 
hoarse voice of men, and the wild sound of the trumpets blow- 
ing the reveille. The sergeant-major immediately aftei vards 
came to summon him, which he did in a very respectful man- 
ner, saying the (xeneral (for Claverhouse now held that rank) 
hoped for the pleasure of his company upon the road. In 
some situations an intimation is a command, and Morton 
considered that the present occasion was one of these. He 
waited upon Claverhouse as speedily as he could, found his 
own horse saddled for his use, and Cuddie in attendance. 
Both were deprived of their firearms, though they seemed, 
otherwise, rather to make part of the troop than of the pris- 
oners ; and Morton was permitted to retain his sword, the 
wearing which was, in those days, the distinguishing mark 
of a gentleman. Claverhouse seemed also to take pleasure in 
riding beside him, in conversing with him, and in confound- 
ing his ideas when he attempted to appreciate his real char- 
acter. The gentleness and urbanity of that officer’s general 
manners, the high and chivalrous sentiments of military de- 
votion which he occasionally expressed, his deep and accurate 
insight into the human bosom, demanded at once the appro- 
bation and the wonder of those who conversed with him ; 
while, on the other hand, his cold indifference to military 
violence and cruelty seemed altogether inconsistent with the 
social, and even admirable, qualities which he displayed. 
Morton could not help in his heart contrasting him with Bal- 
four of Burley ; and so deeply did the idea impress him, that 
he dropped a hint of it as they rode together at some distance 
from the troop. 

“ You are right,” said Claverhouse, with a smile — “you 
m 


Old mortality 


805 


are very right, we are both fanatics ; but there is some distinc- 
tion between the fanaticism of honor and that of dark and 
sullen superstition. ” 

“ Yet you both shed blood without mercy or remorse,” said 
Morton, who could not suppress his feelings. 

“ Surely,” said Claverhouse, with the same composure ; 
“but of what kind ? There is a difference, I trust, between 
the blood of learned and reverend prelates and scholars, of 
gallant soldiers and noble gentlemen, and the red puddle that 
stagnates in the veins of psalm-singing mechanics, crack- 
brained demagogues, and sullen boors; some distinction, in 
short, between spilling a flask of generous wine and dashing 
down a can full of base muddy ale ? ” 

“Your distinction is too nice for my comprehension,” re- 
plied Morton. “God gives every spark of life, that of the 
peasant as well as of the prince ; and those who destroy His. 
work recklessly or causelessly must answer in either case. 
What right, for example, have I to General Grahame’s protec- 
tion now more than when I first met him ?” 

“And narrowly escaped the consequences, you would say ?” 
answered Claverhouse. “Why, I will answer you frankly. 
Then I thought I had to do with the son of an old Roundheaded 
rebel, and the nephew of a sordid Presbyterian laird ; now I 
know your points better, and there is that about you which I 
respect in an enemy as much as I like in a friend. I have 
learned a good deal concerning you since our first meeting, 
and I trust that you have found that my construction of the 
information has not been unfavorable to you.” 

“But yet,” said Morton 

“ But yet,” interrupted Grahame, taking up the word, “yon 
would say you were the same when I first met you that you 
are now ? True ; but then, how could I know that ? though, 
by the by, even my reluctance to suspend your execution may 
show you how high your abilities stood in my estimation.” 

“ Do you expect, General,” said Morton, “ that I ought to 
be particularly grateful for such a mark of your esteem ?” 

“ Poh ! poh I you are critical,” returned Claverhouse. “ I 
tell you I thought you a different sort of person. Did you 
ever read Froissart ? ” 

“No,” was Morton’s answer. 

“I have half a mind,” said Claverhouse, “to contrive you 
should have six months’ imprisonment in order to procure you 
that pleasure. His chapters inspire me with more enthusi- 
asm tiian even poetry itself. And the noble canon, with 
what true chivalrous feeling he confines his beautiful expres- 


m 


WAVERLEV NOVELS 


sions of sorrow to the death of the gallant and high-bred 
knight, of whom it was a pity to see the fall, such was his 
loyalty to his king, pure faith to his religion, hardihood 
towards his enemy, and fidelity to his lady-love ! Ah, bene- 
dicite ! how he will mourn over the fall of such a pearl of 
knighthood, be it on the side he happens to favor or on the 
other ! But, truly, for sweeping from the face of the earth 
some few hundreds of villain churls, who are born but to 
plough it, the high-born and inquisitive historian has marvel- 
lous little sympathy ; as little, or less, perhaps, than J ohn 
G-rahame of Claverhouse.” 

“ There is one ploughman in your possession, General, for 
whom,” said Morton, “ in despite of the contempt in which 
you hold a profession which some philosophers have considered 
as useful as that of a soldier, I would humbly request your 
favor.” 

“ You mean,” said Claverhouse, looking at a memorandum- 
book, ‘ ‘ one Hatherick — Hedderick — or — or — Headrigg. Ay, 
Cuthbert, or Cuddie Headrigg — here I have him. 0, never 
fear him, if he will be but tractable. The ladies of Tillie- 
tudlem made interest with me on his account some time ago. 
He is to marry their waiting-maid, I think. He will be al- 
lowed to slip off easy, unless his obstinacy spoils his good 
fortune.” 

“He has no ambition to be a martyr, I believe,” said 
Morton. 

“”Tis the better for him,” said Claverhouse. “ But, be- 
sides, although the fellow had more to answer for. I should 
stand his friend for the sake of the blundering gallantry which 
threw him into the midst of our ranks last night, when seek- 
ing assistance for you. I never desert any man who trusts ma 
with such implicit confidence. But, to deal sincerely with 
you, he has been long in our eye. Here, Halliday ; bring me 
up the black book.” 

The sergeant, having committed to his commander this 
ominous record of the disaffected, which was arranged in al- 
phabetical order, Claverhouse, turning over the leaves as he 
rode on, began to read names as they occurred. 

“Gumblegumption, a minister, aged 50, indulged, close, 
sly, and so forth — pooh 4 pooh ! He — He — I have him here — 
Heathercat ; outlawed — a preacher — a zealous Cameronian — 
keeps a conventicle among the Campsie Hills — tush ! 0, here 

is Headrigg — Cuthbert ; his mother a bitter Puritan — himself 
a simple fellow, like to be forward in action, but of no genius 
for plots, more for the hand than the head, and might be 


OLD MORTALITY 


307 


drawn to the right side, but for his attachment to " Here 

Claverhouse looked at Morton, and then shut the book and 
changed his tone. “Faithful and true are words never thrown 
away upon me, Mr. Morton. You may depend on the young 
man's safety." 

“Does it not revolt a mind like yours," said Morton, “to 
follow a system which is to be supported by such minute in- 
quiries after obscure individuals ? " 

“You do not suppose we take the trouble ? " said the Gen- 
eral, haughtily. “The curates, for their own sakes, willingly 
collect all these materials for their own regulation in each par- 
ish ; they know best the black sheep of the flock. I have had 
your picture for three years." 

“ Indeed !" replied Morton. “Will you favor me by im- 
parting it ? " 

“Willingly," said Claverhonse; “it can signify little, for 
you cannot avenge yourself on the curate, as you will probably 
leave Scotland for some time." 

This was spoken in an indifferent tone. Morton felt an 
involuntary shudder at hearing words which implied a banish- 
ment from his native land ; but ere he answered, Claverhouse 
proceeded to read, “ Henry Morton, son of Silas Morton, colonel 
of horse for the Scottish Parliament, nephew and apparent 
heir of Morton of Milnwood ; imperfectly educated, but with 
spirit beyond his years ; excellent at all exercises ; indifferent 
to forms of religion, but seems to incline to the Presbyterian ; 
has high-flown and dangerous notions about liberty of thought 
and speech, and hovers between a latitudinarian and an en- 
thusiast. Much admired and followed by the youth of his 
own age ; modest, quiet, and unassuming in manner, but in 

his heart peculiarly bold and intractable. He is Heie 

follow three red crosses, Mr. Morton, which signify triply 
dangerous. You see how important a person you are. But 
what does this fellow want ? " 

A horseman rode up as he spoke, and gave a letter. Claver- 
house glanced it over, laughed scornfully, bade him tell his 
master to send his prisoners to Edinburgh, for there was no 
answer ; and, as the man turned back, said contemptuously to 
Morton — “ Here is an ally of yours deserted from you, or 
rather, I should say, an ally of your good friend Burley. 
Hear how he sets forth: ‘ Dear Sir ' — I wonder when we 
were such intimates — ‘ may it please your Excellency to accept 
my humble congratulations on the victory '-—hum — hum — 
‘ blessed his Majesty's army. I pray you to understand I 
h^yq pay people upder arms to take and intercept all fugitives. 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


and have already several prisoners/ and so forth. Subscribed 
Basil Olifant. You know the fellow by name, I suppose ? ” 

“ A relative of Lady Margaret Bellenden,” replied Morton, 
“ is he not ?” 

“ Ay,” replied Grahame, “and heir-male of her father’s 
family, though a distant one, and moreover a suitor to the fair 
Edith, though discarded as an unworthy one ; but, above all, a 
devoted admirer of the estate of Tillietudlem and all thereunto 
belonging.” 

“lie takes an ill mode of recommending himself,” said 
Morton, suppressing his feelings, “ to the family at Tillietud- 
lem by corresponding with our unhappy party.” 

“ 0, this precious Basil will turn cat in pan with any man !” 
replied Claverhouse. “ He was displeased with the government 
because they would not overturn in his favor a settlement of 
the late Earl of Torwood, by which his lordship gave his own 
estate to his own daughter ; he was displeased with Lady 
Margaret because she avowed no desire for his alliance, and 
with the pretty Edith because she did not like his tall ungainly 
person. So he held a close correspondence with Burley, and 
raised his followers with the purpose of helping him, providing 
always he needed no help — that is, if you had beat us yesterday. 
And now the rascal pretends he was all the while proposing the 
king’s service, and, for aught I know, the council will receive 
his pretext for current coin, for he knows how to make friends 
among them ; and a dozen scores of poor vagabond fanatics 
will be shot or hanged, while this cunning scoundrel lies hid 
under the double cloak of loyalty, well-lined with the fox-fur 
of hypocrisy.” 

With conversation on this and other matters they beguiled 
the way, Claverhouse all the while speaking with great frank- 
ness to Morton, and treating him rather as a friend and com- 
panion than as a prisoner ; so that, however uncertain of his 
fate, the hours he passed in the company of this remarkable 
man were so much lightened by the varied play of his imag- 
ination and the depth of his knowledge of human nature, that, 
since the period of his becoming a prisoner of war, which re- 
lieved him at once from the cares of his doubtful and danger- 
ous station among the insurgents, and from the consequences 
of their suspicious resentment, his hours flowed on less anx- 
iously than at any time since his having commenced actor 
in public life. He was now, with respect to his fortune, like 
a rider who has flung his reins on the horse’s neck, and, while 
he abandoned himself to circumstances, was at least relieved 
from the task of attempting to direct them. In this mood he 


OLD MORTALITY 


journeyed on, the number of his companions being continually 
augmented by detached parties of horse who came in from 
every quarter of the country, bringing with them, for the 
most part, the unfortunate persons who had fallen into their 
power. 

At length they approached Edinburgh. 

“Our council,” said Claverhouse, “ being resolved, I 
suppose, to testify by their present exultation the extent of 
their former terror, have decreed a kind of triumphal entry to 
us victors and our captives ; but, as I do not quite approve the 
taste of it, I am willing to avoid my own part in the show, and 
at the same time to save you from yours.” 

So saying, he gave up the command of the forces to Allan 
(now a lieutenant-colonel), and turning his horse into a by- 
lane, rode into the city privately, accompanied by Morton and 
two or three servants. When Claverhouse arrived at the 
quarters which he usually occupied in the Canongate, he 
assigned to his prisoner a small apartment, with an intimation 
that his parole confined him to it for the present. 

After about a quarter of an hour spent in solitary musing 
on the strange vicissitudes of his late life, the attention of 
Morton was summoned to the window by a great noise in the 
street beneath. Trumpets, drums, and kettle-drums contended 
in noise with the shouts of a numerous rabble, and apprised 
him that the royal cavalry were passing in the triumphal at- 
titude which Claverhouse had mentioned. The magistrates 
of the city, attended by their guard of halberds, had met the 
victors with their welcome at the gate of the city, and now 
preceded them as a part of the procession. The next object 
was two heads borne upon pikes ; and before each bloody head 
were carried the hands of the dismembered sufferers, which 
were, by the brutal mockery of those who bore them, often ap- 
proached towards each other as if in the attitude of exhorta- 
tion or prayer. These bloody trophies belonged to two preach- 
ers who had fallen at Both well Bridge. After them came a 
cart led by the executioner’s assistant, in which were placed 
Macbriarand other two prisoners, who seemed of the same 
profession. They were bareheaded and strongly bound, yet 
looked around them with an air rather of triumph than dis- 
may, and appeared in no respect moved either by the fate of 
their companions, of which the bloody evidences were carried 
before them, or by dread of their own approaching execution, 
which these preliminaries so plainly indicated. 

Behind these prisoners, thus held up to public infamy and 
derision, came a body of horse, brandishing their broadswords. 


310 


WAVE BLEY NOVELS 


and filling the wide street with acclamations, which were an- 
swered by the tumultuous outcries and shouts of the rabble, 
who, in every considerable town, are too happy in being per- 
mitted to huzza for anything whatever which calls them to- 
gether. In the rear of these troopers came the main body of 
the prisoners, at the head of whom were some of their leaders, 
who were treated with every circumstance of inventive mock- 
ery and insult. Several were placed on horseback with their 
faces to the animal's tail ; others were chained to long bars of 
iron, which they were obliged to support in their hands, like 
the galley-slaves in Spain when travelling to the port where 
they are to be put on shipboard. The heads of others who 
had fallen were borne in triumph before the survivors, some 
on pikes and halberds, some in sacks, bearing the names of 
the slaughtered persons labelled on the outside. Such were 
the objects who headed the ghastly procession, who seemed as 
effectually doomed to death as if they wore the sanbenitos of 
the condemned heretics in an auto-da-fe * 

Behind them came on the nameless crowd to the number 
of several hundreds, some retaining under their misfortunes 
a sense of confidence in the cause for which they suffered cap- 
tivity, and were about to give a still more bloody testimony ; 
others seemed pale, dispirited, dejected, questioning in their 
own minds their prudence in espousing a cause which Provi- 
dence seemed to have disowned, and looking about for some 
avenue through which they might escape from the conse- 
quences of their rashness. Others there were who seemed in- 
capable of forming an opinion on the subject, or of entertain- 
ing either hope, confidence, or fear, but who, foaming with 
thirst and fatigue, stumbled along like over-driven oxen, lost 
to everything but their present sense of wretchedness, and 
without having any distinct idea whether they were led to the 
shambles or to the pasture. These unfortunate men were 
guarded on each hand by troopers, and behind them came the 
main body of the cavalry, whose military music resounded 
back from the high houses on each side of the street, and min- 
gled with their own songs of jubilee and triumph, and the 
wild shouts of the rabble. 

Morton felt himself heart-sick while he gazed on the dismal 
spectacle, and recognized in the bloody heads, and still more 
miserable and agonized features of the living sufferers, faces 
which had been familiar to him during the brief insurrection. 
He sunk down in a chair in a bewildered and stupefied state ? 
from which he was awakened by the voice of Cuddie? 

* See Prisoners’ Procession. Note §3, 


OLD MORTALITY 


811 


(e Lord forgie ns, sir ! " said the poor fellow, his teeth 
chattering like a pair of nut-crackers, his hair erect like boar’s 
bristles, and his face as pale as that of a corpse — “Lord for- 
gie ns, sir ! we maun instantly gang before the council ! 0 

Lord, what made them send for a puir body like me, sac mony 
braw lords and gentles ! And there's my mither come on the 
lang tramp frae Glasgow to see to gar me testify, as she ca's 
it, that is to say, confess and be hanged ; but deil tak me if 
they mak sic a gnse o' Cuddie, if I can do better. But here's 
Claverhouse himsell — the Lord preserve and forgie us, I say 
anes mair ! " 

“ You must immediately attend the council, Mr. Morton," 
said Claverhouse, who entered while Cuddie spoke, “ and your 
servant must go with you. You need be under no apprehen- 
sion for the consequences to yourself personally. But I warn 
you that you will see something that will give you much pain, 
and from which I would willingly have saved yen, if I had 
possessed the power. My carriage waits us ; shall we go ?" 

It will be readily supposed that Morton did not venture to 
dispute this invitation, however unpleasant. He rose and ac- 
companied Claverhouse. 

“ I must apprise you," said the latter, as he led the way 
downstairs, “that you will get off cheap ; and so will your 
servant, provided he can keep his tongue quiet." 

Cuddie caught these last words to his exceeding joy. 

“ Deil a fear o' me," said he, “ an my mither disna pit her 
finger in the pie." 

At that moment his shoulder was seized by old Mause, 
who had contrived to thrust herself forward into the lobby 
of the apartment. 

“ 0, hinny, hinny ! " said she to Cuddie, hanging upon 
his neck, “ glad and proud, and sorry and humbled am I, a' 
in ane and the same instant, to see my bairn ganging to tes- 
tify for the truth gloriously with his mouth in council, as he 
did with his weapon in the field ! " 

“ Whist, whist, mither ! " cried Cuddie, impatiently. 
“ Odd, ye daft wife, is this a time to speak o' thae things ? 
I tell ye I'll testify naething either ae gate or another. I hae 
spoken to Mr. Poundtext, and I'll tak the declaration, or 
whate'er they ca' it, and we're a' to win free off if we do that. 
He's gotten life for himsell and a' his folk, and that's a min- 
ister for my siller ; I like nane o' your sermons that end in a 
psalm at the Grassmarket." 

0, Cuddie, man, laith wad I be they suld hurt ye," said 
old Mause, divided grievously between the safety of her son's 


312 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


soul and that of his body ; “ but mind, my bonny bairn, ya 
hae battled for the faith, and dinna let the dread o’ losing 
creature comforts withdraw ye frae the gude fight." 

“ Hout tout, mither," replied Cuddie, “ I hae fought 
e’en ower muckle already, and, to speak plain, I’m wearied o’ 
the trade. 1 hae swaggered wi’ a’ thae arms, and muskets, 
and pistols, buff- coats, and bandoliers, lang eneugh, and I 
like the pleugh-paidle a hantle better. I ken naething suld 
gar a man fight — that’s to say, when he’s no angry — bye and 
out-taken the dread o’ being hanged or killed if he turns 
back." 

“ But, my dear Cuddie," continued the persevering Mause, 
“ your bridal garment ! Oh, hinny, dinna sully the marriage 
garment ! " 

“ Awa’, awa’, mither," replied Cuddie ; “ dinna ye see the 
folks waiting for me ? Never fear me ; I ken how to turn 
this far better than ye do ; for ye’re bleezing awa’ about mar- 
riage, and the job is how we are to win bye hanging." 

So saying, he extricated himself out of his mother’s em- 
braces, and requested the soldiers who took him in charge to 
conduct him to the place of examination without delay. He 
had been already preceded by Claverhouse and Morton. 


CHAPTER XXXVI 


My native land, good night ! 

Lord Byron. 

The privy council of Scotland, in whom the practice since 
the union of the crowns vested great judicial powers, as well 
as the general superintendence of the executive department, 
was met in the ancient dark G.othic room adjoining to the 
House of Parliament in Edinburgh, when General Grahame 
entered and took his place among the members at the council 
table. 

“ You have brought us a leash of game to-day. General," 
said a nobleman of high place among them. “Here is a 
craven to confess, a cock of the game to stand at bay, and 
what shall I call the third. General ? ’’ 

“ Without further metaphor, I will entreat your Grace to 
call him a person in whom I am specially interested," replied 
Claverhouse. 

“ And a Whig into the bargain ? " said the nobleman, loll- 
ing out a tongue which was at all times too big for his mouth, 
and accommodating his coarse features to a sneer, to which 
they seemed to be familiar. 

“Yes, please your Grace, a Whig, as your Grace was in 
1641," replied Claverhouse, with his usual appearance of im- 
perturbable civility. 

“ He has you there, I think, my Lord Duke," said one of 
the privy councillors. 

“Ay, ay," returned the Duke, laughing, “there’s no 
speaking to him since Drumclog ; but come, bring in the 
prisoners ; and do you, Mr. Clerk, read the record." 

The clerk read forth a bond, in which General Grahame 
of Claverhouse and Lord Evandale entered themselves securi- 
ties that Henry Morton, younger of Milnwood, should go 
abroad and remain in foreign parts until his Majesty’s pleasure 
was further known, in respect of the said Henry Morton’s ac- 
cession to the late rebellion, and that under penalty of life and 
limb to the said Henry Morton, and of ten thousand merks 
to each of his securities. 


313 


314 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


“ Do you accept of the king’s mercy upon these terms, Mr. 
Morton ? ” said the Duke of Lauderdale, who presided in the 
council. 

“ I have no other choice, my lord,” replied Morton. 

“Then subscribe your name in the record.” 

Morton did so without reply, conscious that, in the circum- 
stances of his case, it was impossible for him to have escaped 
more easily. Macbriar, who was at the same instant brought 
to the foot of the council table, bound upon a chair, for his 
weakness prevented him from standing, beheld Morton in the 
act of what ke accounted apostasy. 

“ He hath summed his defection by owning the carnal 
power of the tyrant ! ” he exclaimed, with a deep groan. “A 
fallen star ! a fallen star ! ” 

“ Hold your peace, sir,” said the Duke, “ and keep your 
ain breath to cool your ain porridge ; ye’ll find them scalding 
hot, I promise you. Call in the other fellow, who has some 
common sense. One sheep will leap the ditch when another 
goes first.” 

Ouddie was introduced unbound, but under the guard of 
two haioercuers, mid placed beside Macbriar at the foot of the 
table. The poor fellow cast a piteous look around him, in 
which were mingled awe for the great men in whose presence 
he stood, and compassion for his fellow-sufferers, with no 
small fear of the personal consequences which impended over 
himself. He made his clownish obeisances with a double 
portion of reverence, and then awaited the opening of the aw- 
ful scene. 

“Were you at the battle of Both well Brig ?” was the first 
question which was thundered in his ears. 

Cuddie meditated a denial, but had sense enough, upon 
reflection, to discover that the truth would be too strong for 
him ; so he replied, with true Caledonian indirectness of re- 
sponse, “ I’ll no say but it may be possible that I might hae 
been there.” 

‘ f Answer directly, you knave — yes or no ? You know you 
were there.” 

“It’s no for me to contradict your Lordship’s Grace’s 
honor,” said Cuddie. 

“ Once more, sir, were you there ? — yes or no ?” said the 
Duke, impatiently. 

“Dear stir,” again replied Cuddie, “how can ane mind 
preceesely where they hae been a’ the days o’ their life ? ” 

“ Speak out, you scoundrel,” said General Dalzell,* “or 

* See Dalzell’s Brutality. Note 33. 


OLD MORTALITY 


315 


Pll dash your teeth out with my dudgeon-haft ! Do you think 
we can stand here all day to be turning and dodging with you, 
like greyhounds after a hare ? ” 

“Aweel, then,” said Cuddie, “ since naething else will 
please ye, write down that I cannot deny but I was there.” 

“Well, sir,” said the Duke, “and do you think that the 
rising upon that occasion was rebellion or not ?” 

“ I’m no just free to gie my opinion, stir,” said the cau- 
tious captive, “ on what might cost my neck ; but I doubt it 
will be very little better.” 

“ Better than what ?” 

“Just than rebellion, as your honor ca's it,” replied 
Cuddie. 

“Well, sir, that's speaking to the purpose,” replied his 
Grace. “ And are you content to accept of the king's pardon 
for your guilt as a rebel, and to keep the church, and pray for 
the king ? ” 

“ Blithely, stir,” answered the unscrupulous Cuddie ; “ and 
drink his health into the bargain when the ale's gude.” 

“ Egad,” said the Duke, “ this is a hearty cock. What 
brought you into such a scrape, mine honest friend ? ” 

“ Just ill example, stir,” replied the prisoner, “ and a daft 
auld jaud of a mither, wi' reverence to your Grace's honor.” 

“ Why, God-a-mercy, my friend,” replied the Duke, “take 
care of bad advice another time ; I think you are not likely to 
commit treason on your own score. Make out his free par- 
don, and bring forward the rogue in the chair.” 

Macbriar was then moved forward to the post of examina- 
tion. 

“ Were you at the battle of Bothwell Bridge ?” was, in 
like manner, demanded of him. 

“ I was,” answered the prisoner, in a bold and resolute tone. 

“ Were you armed ?” 

“I was not : I went in my calling as a preacher of God's 
Word, to encourage them that drew the sword in His cause.” 

“In other words, to aid and abet the rebels ?” said the 
Duke. 

“ Thou hast spoken it,” replied the prisoner. 

“Well, then,” continued the interrogator, “let us know 
if you saw John Balfour of Burley among the party ? I pre- 
sume you know him ? ” 

“I bless God that I do know him,” replied Macbriar; 
“he is a zealous and a sincere Christian.” 

f ‘ And when and where did you last see this pious person- 
age ? ” was the query which immediately followed. 


m 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


“ I am here to answer for myself,” said Macbriar, in the 
same dauntless manner, “and not to endanger others.” 

“We shall know,” said Dalzell, “how to make yon find 
your tongue.” 

“ If you can make him fancy himself in a conventicle,” 
answered Lauderdale, “he will find it without you. Come, 
laddie, speak while the play is good ; you're too young to 
bear the burden will be laid on you else.” 

“I defy you,” retorted Macbriar. “This has not been 
the first of my imprisonments or of my sufferings ; and, young 
as I may be, I have lived long enough to know how to die 
when I am called upon.” 

“ Ay, but there are some things which must go before an 
easy death, if you continue obstinate,” said Lauderdale, and 
rung a small silver bell which was placed before him on the 
table. 

A dark crimson curtain, which covered a sort of niche or 
Gothic recess in the wall, rose at the signal, and displayed 
the public executioner, a tall, grim, and hideous man, having 
an oaken table before him, on which lay thumb-screws, and 
an iron case, called the Scottish boot, used in those tyran- 
nical days to torture accused persons. Morton, who was un- 
prepared for this ghastly apparition, started when the curtain 
arose ; but Macbriar's nerves were more firm. He gazed upon 
the horrible apparatus with much composure ; and if a touch 
of nature called the blood from his cheek for a second, reso- 
lution sent it back to his brow with greater energy. 

“ Do you know who that man is ?” said Lauderdale, in a 
low, stern voice, almost sinking into a whisper. 

“ He is, I suppose,” replied Macbriar, “the infamous ex- 
ecutioner of your bloodthirsty commands upon the persons of 
God's people. He and you are equally beneath my regard ; 
and, I bless God, I no more fear what he can inflict than 
what you can command. Flesh and blood may shrink under 
the sufferings you can doom me to, and poor frail nature may 
shed tears, or send forth cries ; but I trust my soul is anchored 
firmly on the rock of ages.” 

“Do your duty,” said the Duke to the executioner. 

The fellow advanced, and asked, with a harsh and discor- 
dant voice, upon which of the prisoner's limbs he should first 
employ his engine. 

“ Let him choose for himself,” said the Duke ; “I should 
like to oblige him in anything that is reasonable.” 

“ Since you leave it to me,” said the prisoner, stretching 


OLD MORTALITY 


817 


forth liis right ieg, “take the best ; I willingly bestow it in 
the cause for which I suffer.” * 

The executioner, with the help of his assistants, enclosed 
the leg and knee within the tight iron boot or case, and then 
placing a wedge of the same metal between the knee and the 
edge of the machine, took a mallet in his hand, and stood 
waiting for further orders. A well-dressed man, by profession 
a surgeon, placed himself by the other side of the prisoner's 
chair, bared the prisoner's arm, and applied his thumb to the 
pulse in order to regulate the torture according to the strength 
of the patient. When these preparations were made, the 
president of the council repeated with the same stem voice the 
question, “ When and where did you last see John Balfour of 
Burley ? " 

The prisoner, instead of replying to him, turned his eyes 
to Heaven as if imploring Divine strength, and muttered a 
few words, of which the last were distinctly audible, “ Thou 
hast said Thy people shall be willing in the day of Thy power ! ” 
The Duke of Lauderdale glanced his eye around the council 
as if to collect their suffrages, and, judging from their mute 
signs, gave on his own part a nod to the executioner, whose 
mallet instantly descended on the wedge.und, forcing it between 
the knee and the iron boot, occasioned the most exquisite 
pain, as was evident from the flush which instantly took place 
on the brow and on the cheeks of the sufferer. The fellow 
then again raised his weapon and stood prepared to give a 
second blow. 

“Will you yet say,'' repeated the Duke of Lauderdale, 
“ where and when you last parted from Balfour of Burley ? ” 
“You have my answer,'' said the sufferer, resolutely, and 
the second blow fell. The third and fourth succeeded ; but 
at the fifth, when a larger wedge had been introduced, the 
prisoner set up a scream of agony. 

Morton, whose blood boiled within him at witnessing such 
cruelty, could bear no longer, and, although unarmed and 
himself in great danger, was springing forward, when Claver- 
house, who observed his emotion, withheld him by force, laying 
one hand on his arm and the other on his mouth, while he 
whispered, “For God's sake, think where you are !” 

This movement, fortunately for him, was observed by no 
other of the councillors, whose attention was engaged with 
the dreadful scene before them. 

“ He is gone,'' said the surgeon — “he has fainted, my lords, 
and human nature can endure no more.” 

♦This was the reply actually made by James Mitchell when subjected to the 
torture of the boot for an attempt to assassinate Archbishop Sharp. 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


m 


“ Release him," said the Duke ; and added, turning td 
Dalzell, “ He will make an old proverb good, for he’ll scarce 
ride to-day, though he has had his boots on. I suppose we 
must finish with him ?” 

“ Ay, despatch his sentence and have done with him ; we 
have plenty of drudgery behind.” 

Strong waters and essences were busily employed to recall 
the senses of the unfortunate captive ; and when his first faint 
gasps intimated a return of sensation, the Duke pronounced 
sentence of death upon him, as a traitor taken in the act of 
open rebellion, and adjudged him to be carried from the bar to 
the commonplace of execution, and there hanged by the neck ; 
his head and hands to be stricken off after death, and disposed 
of according to the pleasure of the council,* and all and sun- 
dry his movable goods and gear escheat and inbrought to his 
Majesty’s use. 

“Doomster,” he continued, “repeat the sentence to the 
prisoner.” 

The office of doomster was in those days, and till a much 
later period, held by the executioner in commendam with his 
ordinary functions, f The duty consisted in reciting to the 
unhappy criminal the Sentence of the law as pronounced by 
the judge, which acquired an additional and horrid emphasis 
from the recollection that the hateful personage by whom it 
was uttered was to be the agent of the cruelties he denounced. 
Macbriar had scarce understood the purport of the words as 
first pronounced by the Lord President of the Council ; but he 
was sufficiently recovered to listen and to reply to the sentence 
when uttered by the harsh and odious voice of the ruffian who 
was to execute it, and at the last awful words, “ And this I 
pronounce for doom,” he answered boldly, “ My lords, I thank 
you for the only favor I looked for, or would accept at your 
hands, namely, that you have sent the crushed and maimed 
carcass, which has this day sustained your cruelty, to this 
hasty end. It were indeed little to me whether I perish on 
the gallows or in the prison-house ; but if death, following 
close on what I have this day suffered, had found me in my cell 
of darkness and bondage, many might have lost the sight how 
a Christian man can suffer in the good cause. For the rest, 
I forgive you, my lords, for what you have appointed and I 
have sustained. And why should I not ? Ye send me to a 
happy exchange, to the company of angels and the spirits of 
the just for that of frail dust and ashes. Ye send me from 

* See Heads of the Executed. Note 34. 

t See a note on the subject of this office in the Heart of Midlothian . 


OLD MORTALITY 


319 


darkness into day, from mortality to immortality, and, in a 
word, from earth to heaven ! If the thanks, therefore, and 
pardon of a dying man can do you good, take them at my 
hand, and may your last moments be as happy as mine ! ” 

As he spoke thus, with a countenance radiant with joy 
and triumph, he was withdrawn by those who had brought 
him into the apartment, and executed within half an hour, 
dying with the same enthusiastic firmness which his whole life 
had evinced. 

The council broke up, and Morton found himself again in 
the carriage with General Grahame. 

“ Marvellous firmness and gallantry ! ” said Morton, as he 
reflected upon Macbriar's conduct; “what a pity it is that 
with such self-devotion and heroism should have been mingled 
the fiercer features of his sect ! ” 

“ You mean,” said Olaverhouse, “ his resolution to con- 
demn you to death ? To that he would have reconciled him- 
self by a single text ; for example, ‘ And Phinehas arose and 
executed judgment/ or something to the same purpose. But 
wot ye where you are now bound, Mr. Morton ? ” 

“ We are on the road to Leith, I observe,” answered Morton. 
“ Can 1 not be permitted to see my friends ere I leave my na- 
tive land ? ” 

“Your uncle,” replied Grahame, “has been spoken to, 
and declines visiting you. The good gentleman is terrified, 
and not without some reason, that the crime of your treason 
may extend itself over his lands and tenements ; he sends you, 
however, his blessing, and a small sum of money. Lord 
Evandale continues extremely indisposed. Major Bellenden 
is at Tillietudlem putting matters in order. The scoundrels 
have made great havoc there with Lady Margaret's muni- 
ments of antiquity, and have desecrated and destroyed what the 
good lady called the Throne of his most Sacred Majesty. Is 
there any one else whom you would wish to see ? ” 

Morton sighed deeply as he answered, “ No ; it would avail 
nothing. But my preparations — small as they are, some must 
be necessary.” 

“ They are all ready for you,” said the General. “ Lord 
Evandale has anticipated all you wish. Here is a packet from 
him with letters of recommendation for the court of the 
Stadtholder Prince of Orange, to which 1 have added one or 
two. I made my first campaigns under him, and first saw fire 
at the battle of Seneff.* There are also bills of exchange for 

* August, 1674. Claverhouse greatly distinguished himself in this action, and 
was made captain. 


320 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


your immediate wants, and more will be sent when yon re- 
quire it.” 

Morton heard all this and received the parcel with an as- 
tounded and confused look, so sudden was the execution of the 
sentence of banishment. 

“ And my servant ?” he said. 

“He shall be taken care of, and replaced, if it be practi- 
cable, in the service of Lady Margaret Bellenden ; I think he 
will hardly neglect the parade of the feudal retainers, or go a- 
Whigging a second time. But here we are upon the quay, 
and the boat waits you.” 

It was even as Clave rhouse said. A boat waited for Cap- 
tain Morton, with the trunks and baggage belonging to his 
rank. Olaverhouse shook him by the hand, and wished him 
good fortune, and a happy return to Scotland in quieter 
times. 

“I shall never forget,” he said, “the gallantry of your 
behavior to my friend Evandale, in circumstances when many 
men would have sought to rid him out of their way.” 

Another friendly pressure, and they parted. As Morton 
descended the pier to get into the boat, a hand placed in his a 
letter folded up in very small space. He looked round. The 
person who gave it seemed much muffled up ; he pressed his 
finger upon his lip, and then disappeared among the crowd. 
The incident awakened Morton’s curiosity ; and when he 
found himself on board of a vessel bound for Rotterdam, and 
saw all his companions of the voyage busy making their own 
arrangements, he took an opportunity to open the billet thus 
mysteriously thrust upon him. It ran thus : “ Thy courage 
on the fatal day when Israel fled before his enemies hath in 
some measure atoned for thy unhappy owning of the Erastian 
interest. These are not days for Ephraim to strive with Is- 
rael. I know thy heart is with the daughter of the stranger. 
But turn from that folly ; for in exile, and in flight, and even 
in death itself, shall my hand be heavy against that bloody 
and Malignant house, and Providence hath given me the 
means of meting unto them with their own measure of ruin 
and confiscation. The resistance of their stronghold was the 
main cause of our being scattered at Bothwell Bridge, and I 
have bound it upon my soul to visit it upon them. Where- 
fore, think of her no more, but join with our brethren in ban- 
ishment, whose hearts are still towards this miserable land to 
save and to relieve her. There is an honest remnant in Hol- 
land whose eyes are looking out for deliverance. Join thy- 
self unto them like the true son of the stout and worthy Silas 


OLD MORTALITY 


521 


Morton, and thou wilt have good acceptance among them for 
his sake and for thine own working. Shouldst thou be found 
worthy again to labor in the vineyard, thou wilt at all times 
hear of my incomings and outgoings, by inquiring after Quin- 
tin Mackell of Irongray, at the house of that singular Chris- 
tian woman, Bessie Maclure, near to the place called the 
Howli, where Kiel Blane entertaineth guests. So much from 
him who hopes to hear again from thee in brotherhood, re- 
sisting unto blood, and striving against sin. Meanwhile, 
possess thyself in patience. Keep thy sword girded, and thy 
lamp burning, as one that wakes in the night ; for He who 
shall judge the Mount of Esau, and shall make false professors 
as straw and Malignants as stubble, will come in the fourth 
watch with garments dyed in blood, and the house of Jacob 
shall be for spoil, and the house of Joseph for fire. I am he 
that hath written it, whose hand hath been on the mighty in 
the waste field/' 

This extraordinary letter was subscribed J. B. of B.; but 
the signature of these initials was not necessary for point- 
ing out to Morton that it could come from no other than 
Burley. It gave him new occasion to admire the indomitable 
spirit of this man, who, with art equal to his courage and ob- 
stinacy, was even now endeavoring to re-establish the web of 
conspiracy which had been so lately torn to pieces. But he 
felt no sort of desire in the present moment to sustain a cor- 
respondence which must be perilous, or to renew an associa- 
tion which, in so many ways, had been nearly fatal to him. 
The threats which Burley held out against the family of Bel- 
lenden, he considered as a mere expression of his spleen on 
account of their defence of Tillietudlem ; and nothing seemed 
less likely than that, at the very moment of their party being 
victorious, their fugitive and distressed adversary could exer- 
cise the least influence over their fortunes. 

Morton, however, hesitated for an instant whether he 
should not send the Major or Lord Evandale intimation of 
Burley's threats. Upon consideration, he thought he could 
not do so without betraying his confidential correspondence ; 
for to warn them of his menaces would have- served little pur- 
pose, unless he had given them a clue to prevent them, by 
apprehending his person ; while, by doing so, he deemed he 
should commit an ungenerous breach of trust to remedy an 
evil which seemed almost imaginary. Upon mature consid- 
eration, therefore, he tore the letter, having first made a 
memorandum of the name and place where the writer was to 
be heard of, and threw the fragments into the sea. 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 




While Morton was thus employed the vessel was unmoored, 
and the white sails swelled out before a favorable north-west 
wind. The ship leaned her side to the gale, and went roar- 
ing through the waves, leaving a long and rippling furrow 
to track her course. The city and port from which he had 
sailed became undistinguishable in the distance ; the hills by 
which they were surrounded melted finally into the blue sky, 
and Morton was separated for several years from the land of 
his nativity. 


CHAPTER XXXVII 


Whom does time gallop withal ? 

As You Like It. 

It is fortunate for tale-tellers that they are not tied down like 
theatrical writers to the unities of time and place, but may 
conduct their personages to Athens and Thebes at their pleas- 
ure, and bring them back at their convenience. Time, to 
use Rosalind's simile, has hitherto paced with the hero of our 
tale ; for, betwixt Morton's first appearance as a competitor 
for the popinjay and his final departure for Holland hardly 
two months elapsed. Years, however, glided away ere we find 
it possible to resume the thread of our narrative, and Time 
must be held to have galloped over the interval. Craving, 
therefore, the privilege of my cast, I entreat the reader's at- 
tention to the continuation of the narrative, as it starts from 
a new era, being the year immediately subsequent to the British 
Revolution. 

Scotland had just begun to repose from the convulsion oc- 
casioned by a change of dynasty, and, through the prudent 
tolerance of King William, had narrowly escaped the horrors 
of a protracted civil war. Agriculture began to revive ; and 
men, whose minds had been disturbed by the violent political 
concussions and the general change of government in church 
and state, had begun to recover their ordinary temper, and to 
give the usual attention to their own private affairs in lieu of 
discussing those of the public. The Highlanders alone resisted 
the newly established order of things, and were in arms in a 
considerable body under the Viscount of Dundee, whom our 
readers have hitherto known by the name of Grahame of 
Claverhouse. But the usual state of the Highlands was so 
unruly that their being more or less disturbed was not sup- 
posed greatly to affect the general tranquillity of the coun- 
try, so long as their disorders were confined within their own 
frontiers. In the Lowlands, the Jacobites, now the undermost 
party, had ceased to expect any immediate advantage by open 
resistance, and were, in their turn, driven to hold private 


324 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


meetings and form associations for mutual defence, which the 
government termed treason, while they cried out persecution. 

The triumphant Whigs, while they re-established Presby- 
tery as the national religion, and assigned to the General As- 
semblies of the Kirk their natural influence, were very far from 
going the lengths which the Cameron ians and more extrava- 
gant portion of the Nonconformists under Charles and James 
loudly demanded. They would listen to no proposal for re- 
establishing the Solemn League and Covenant ; and those who 
had expected to find in King William a zealous covenanted 
monarch were grievously disappointed when he intimated, with 
the phlegm peculiar to his country, his intention to tolerate 
all forms of religion which were consistent with the safety of 
the state. The principles of indulgence thus espoused and 
gloried in by the government gave great offence to the more 
violent party, who condemned them as diametrically contrary 
to Scripture ; for which nanow-spirited doctrine they cited 
various texts, all, as it may well be supposed, detached from 
their context, and most of them derived from the charges given 
to the Jews in the Old Testament dispensation to extirpate 
idolaters out of the promised land. They also murmured 
highly against the influence assumed by secular persons in 
exercising the rights of patronage, which they termed a rape 
upon the chastity of the church. They censured and con- 
demned as Erastian many of the measures by which govern- 
ment after the Revolution showed an inclination to interfere 
with the management of the church, and they positively re- 
fused to take the oath of allegiance to King William and 
Queen Mary until they should, on their part, have sworn to 
the Solemn League and Covenant — the Magna Charta, as th«y 
termed it — of the Presbyterian Church. 

This party, therefore, remained grumbling and dissatis- 
fied, and made repeated declarations against defections and 
causes of wrath, which, had they been prosecuted as in vhe 
two former reigns, would have led to the same consequence 
of open rebellion. But as the murmurers were allowed to 
hold their meetings uninterrupted, and to testify as much as 
they pleased against Socinianism, Erastianism, and all the 
compliances and defections of the time, their zeal, unfanned 
by persecution, died gradually away, their numbers became 
diminished, and they sunk into the scattered remnant of seri- 
ous, scrupulous, and harmless enthusiasts of whom Old Mor- 
tality, whose legends have afforded the groundwork of my ta.. % 
may be taken as no bad representative. But in the years 
which immediately succeeded the Revolution, the Camero- 


OLD MORTALITY 


32 $ 


nians Continued a sect strong in numbers and vehement in their 
political opinions, whom government wished to discourage, 
while they prudently temporized with them. These men 
formed one violent party in the state ; and the Episcopalian 
and Jacobite interest, notwithstanding their ancient and na- 
tional animosity, yet repeatedly endeavored to intrigue among 
them, and avail themselves of their discontents to obtain their 
assistance in recalling the Stewart family. The Revolution- 
ary government, in the meanwhile, was supported by the 
great bulk of the Lowland interest, who were chiefly disposed 
to a moderate Presbytery, and formed in a great measure the 
party who, in the former oppressive reigns, were stigmatized 
by the Cameronians for having exercised that form of worship 
under the declaration of Indulgence issued by Charles II. 
Such was the state of parties in Scotland immediately subse- 
quent to the Revolution. 

It was on a delightful summer evening that a stranger, 
well mounted, and having the appearance of a military man 
of rank, rode down a winding descent which terminated in 
view of the romantic ruins of Bothwell Castle and the river 
Clyde, which winds so beautifully between rocks and woods 
to sweep around the towers formerly built by Aymer de Valence. 
Bothwell Bridge was at a little distance, and also in sight. 
The opposite field, once the scene of slaughter and conflict, 
now lay as placid and quiet as the surface of a summer lake. 
The trees and bushes, which grew around in romantic variety of 
shade, were hardly seen to stir under the influence of the even- 
ing breeze. The very murmur of the river seemed to soften 
itself into unison with the stillness of the scene around. 

The path through which the traveller descended was occa- 
sionally shaded by detached trees of great size, and elsewhere 
by the hedges and boughs of flourishing orchards, now laden 
with summer fruits. The nearest object of consequence was 
a farmhouse, or, it might be, the abode of a small proprietor, 
situated on the side of a sunny bank, which was covered by 
apple and pear trees. At the foot of the path which led up 
to this modest mansion was a small cottage, pretty much in 
the situation of a porter's lodge, though obviously not designed 
for such a purpose. The hut seemed comfortable, and more 
neatly arranged than is usual in Scotland. It had its little 
garden, where some fruit-trees and bushes were mingled with 
kitchen herbs ; a cowand six sheep fed in a paddock hard by ; 
the cock strutted and crowed, and summoned his family around 
him, before the door ; a heap of brushwood and turf, neatly 


m 


waverley novels 


made up, indicated that the winter fuel was provided ; and the 
thin blue smoke which ascended from the straw-bound chim- 
ney, and winded slowly out from among the green trees, 
showed that the evening meal was in the act of being made 
ready. To complete the little scene of rural peace and com- 
fort, a girl of about five years old was fetching water in a 
pitcher from a beautiful fountain of the purest transparency, 
which bubbled up at the root of a decayed old oak-tree, about 
twenty yards from the end of the cottage. 

The stranger reined up his horse and called to the little 
nymph, desiring to know the way to Fairy Knowe. The child 
set down her water-pitcher, hardly understanding what was 
said to her, put her fair flaxen hair apart on her brows, and 
opened her round blue eyes with the wondering, “ What’s your 
wull ? ” which is usually a peasant’s first answer, if it can be 
called one, to all questions whatever. 

“1 wish to know the way to Fairy Knowe.” 

“ Mammie, mammie,” exclaimed the little rustic, running 
towards the door of the hut, “ come out and speak to the gen- 
tleman.” 

Her mother appeared — a handsome young countrywoman, 
to whose features, originally sly and espiegle in expression, 
matrimony had given that decent matronly air which pecul- 
iarly marks the peasant’s wife of Scotland. She had an infant 
in one arm, and with the other she smoothed down her apron, 
to which hung a chubby child of two years old. The elder 
girl, whom the traveller had first seen, fell back behind her 
mother as soon as she appeared, and kept that station, occa- 
sionally peeping out to look at the stranger. 

“ What was your pleasure, sir ?” said the woman, with an 
air of respectful breeding, not quite common in her rank of 
life, but without anything resembling forwardness. 

The stranger looked at her with great earnestness for a 
moment, and then replied, “1 am seeking a place called Fairy 
Knowe, and a man called Cuthbert Headrigg. You can prob- 
ably direct me to him ? ” 

“ It’s my gudeman, sir,” said the young woman, with a 
smile of welcome ; “will you alight, sir, and come into our 
puir dwelling ? Cuddie, Cuddie [a white-headed rogue of 
four years appeared at the door of the hut]. Rin awa’, my 
bonny man, and tell your father a gentleman wants him. Or, 
stay — Jenny, ye’ll hae mair sense, rin ye awa’ and tell him ; 
he’s down at the Four-acres Park. Winna ye light down and 
bide a blink, sir ? Or would ye take a mouthfu’ o’ bread and 
cheese, or a drink o’ ale, till our gudeman comes ? It’s gude 


OLD MORTALITY 


327 


ale, though I shouldna say sae that brews it ; but ploughman 
lads work hard, and maun hae something to keep their hearts 
abune bv ordinar, sae I aye pit a gude gowpen o' maut to the 
browst.” 

As the stranger declined her courteous offers, Cuddie, the 
reader’s old acquaintance, made his appearance in person . His 
countenance still presented the same mixture of apparent dul- 
ness with occasional sparkles which indicated the craft so often 
found in the clouted shoe. He looked on the rider as on one 
whom he never had before seen ; and, like his daughter and 
wife, opened the conversation with the regular query, “ What’s 
your wull wi’ me, sir ?” 

“1 have a curiosity to ask some- questions about this 
country,” said the traveller, “and I was directed to you as an 
intelligent man who can answer them.” 

“ Nae doubt, sir,” said Cuddie, after a moment’s hesita- 
tion. “But I would first like to ken what sort of questions 
they are. I hae had sae many questions speered at me in my 
day, and in sic queer ways, that if ye kenn’d a’ ye wadna wonder 
at my jalousing a’thing about them. My mother gar’d me 
learn the Single Carritch, whilk was a great vex ; then I be- 
hoved to learn about my godfathers and godmothers to please 
the auld leddy ; and whiles I jumbled them thegither and 
pleased nane o’ them ; and when I cam to man’s yestate, cam 
another kind o’ questioning in fashion, that I liked waur than 
* effectual calling ; ’ and the f did promise and vow ’ of the 
tane were yokit to the end o’ the tother. Sae ye see, sir, I 
aye like to hear questions asked before I answer them.” 

“ You have nothing to apprehend from mine, my good 
friend ; they only relate to the state of the country.” 

“ Country !” replied Cuddie. “ Ou, the country’s w T eel 
eneugh, and it werena that dour deevil, Claver’se — they ca’ 
him Dundee now — that’s stirring about yet in the Highlands, 
they say, wi’ a’ the Donalds, and Duncans, and Dugalds that 
ever wore bottomless breeks driving about wi’ him, to set 
things asteer again, now we hae gotten them a’ reasonably 
weel settled. But Mackay will pit him down, there’s little 
doubt o’ that ; he’ll gie him his fairing, I’ll be caution for 
it.” 

“What makes you so positive of that, my friend ?” asked 
the horseman. 

“ I heard it wi’ my ain lugs,” answered Cuddie, “ foretauld 
to him by a man that had been three hours stane dead, and 
came back to this earth again just to tell him his mind. It 
was at a place they ca’ Drumshinneh” 


828 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


“ Indeed ?" said the stranger ; “ lean hardly believe yon, 
my friend." 

“Ye might ask my mither, then, if she were in life," 
said Cuddie ; “it was her explained it a’ to me, for I thought 
the man had only been wounded. At ony rate, he spake of 
the casting out of the Stewarts by their very names, and the 
vengeance that was brewing for Claver’se and his dragoons. 
They ca’d the man Habakkuk Muckle wrath ; his brain was a 
wee ajee, but he was a braw preacher for a’ that." 

“You seem," said the stranger, “to live in a rich and 
peaceful country." 

“It's no to compleen o’, sir, an we get the crap weel in," 
quoth Cuddie ; “but if ye had seen the bluid rinnhT as fast 
on the tap o’ that brig yonder as ever the water ran below it, 
ye wadna hae thought it sae bonny a spectacle." 

“You mean the battle some years since ? I was waiting 
upon Monmouth that morning, my good friend, and did see 
some part of the action," said the stranger. 

“ Then ye saw a bonny stour," said Cuddie, “ that sail 
serve me for fighting a’ the days o' my life. I judged ye wad 
be a trooper by your red scarlet lace-coat and your looped 
hat." 

“And which side were you upon, my friend ?" continued 
the inquisitive stranger. 

“ Aha, lad," retorted Cuddie, with a knowing look, or what 
he designed for such, “ there’s nae use in telling that, unless 
I kenn’d wha was asking me." 

“ I commend your prudence, but it is unnecessary ; I know 
you acted on that occasion as servant to Henry Morton." 

“Ay!" said Cuddie, in surprise, “how cam ye by that 
secret ? Yo that I need care a bodle about it, for the sun’s 
on our side o’ the hedge now. I wish my master were living 
to get a blink o’t." 

“ And what became of him ?’’ said the rider. 

“ He was lost in the vessel gaun to that weary Holland — 
clean lost, and a’body perished, and my poor master amang 
them. Neither man nor mouse was ever heard o’ mair. " Then 
Cuddie uttered a groan. 

“You had some regard for him, then ?’’ continued the 
stranger. 

“ How could I help it ? His face was made of a fiddle, as 
they say, for a’body that looked on him liked him. And a 
braw soldier he was. 0, an ye had but seen him down at the 
brig there, fleeing about like a fleeing dragon to gar folk fight 
that had unco little will till’t ! There was he and that sour 


OLD MORTALITY 


m 


Whigamore they ca'd Burley — if twa men could hae won a 
field, we wadna hae gotten our skins paid that day.” 

“ You mention Burley. Do you know if he yet lives ?” 

“ I kenna muckle about him. Folk say he was abroad and 
our sufferers wad hold no communion wi' him, because o' his 
having murdered the Archbishop. Sae he cam hame ten 
times dourer than ever, and broke aff wi' mony o' the Presby- 
terians ; and, at this last coming of the Prince of Orange, 
he could get nae countenance nor command for fear of his 
deevilish temper, and he hasna been heard of since ; only some 
folk say that pride and anger hae driven him clean wud.” 

“And — and,” said the traveller, after considerable hesita- 
tion, “do you know anything of Lord Evan dale ?” 

“ Div 1 ken onything o' Lord Evandale ? Div I no? Is 
not my young leddy up-bye yonder at the house, that's as gude 
as married to him ? ” 

“And are they not married, then ?”said the rider, hastily. 

“No, only what they ca' betrothed ; me and my wife were 
witnesses, it's no mony months by-past. It was a lang court- 
ship ; few folk kenn'd the reason bye Jenny and myeell. But 
will ye no light down ? I downa bide to see ye sitting up there, 
and the clouds are casting up thick in the west ower Glasgow- 
ward, and maist skeely folk think that bodes rain.” 

In fact, a deep black cloud had already surmounted the 
setting sun ; a few large drops of rain fell, and the murmurs 
of distant thunder were heard. 

“ The deil's in this man,” said Cuddie to himself ; “ I wish 
he would either light alf or ride on, that he may quarter him- 
sell in Hamilton or the shower begin.” 

But the rider sat motionless on his horse for two or three 
moments after his last question, like one exhausted by some 
uncommon effort. At length, recovering himself as if with a 
sudden and painful effort, he asked Cuddie “if Lady Mar- 
garet Bellenden still lived.” 

“She does,” replied Cuddie, “but in a very sma' way. 
They hae been a sad changed family since thae rough times 
began ; they hae suffered eneugh first and last ; and to lose the 
auld Tower and a' the bonny barony and the holms that I hae 
pleughed sae often, and the mains, and my kale-yard, that I 
suld hae gotten back again, and a' for naething, as a body may 
say, but just the want o' some bits of sheepskin that were lost 
in the confusion of the taking of Tillietudlem.” 

“I have heard something of this,” said the stranger, 
deepening his voice and averting his head. “ 1 have some 
interest in the family, and would willingly help them if I 


880 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


could. Can you give me a bed in your bouse to-night, my 
friend ? ” 

“It’s but a corner of a place, sir,” said Cuddie, “but we’se 
try, rather than ye suld ride on in the rain and thunner ; for, 
to be free wi’ ye, sir, I think ye seem no that ower weel.” 

“ I am liable to a dizziness,” said the stranger, “ but it will 
soon wear off.” 

“I ken we can gie ye a decent supper, sir,” said Cuddie ; 
“ and we’ll see about a bed as weel as we can. We wad be lai th 
a stranger suld lack what we have, though we are jimply pro- 
vided for in beds rather; for Jenny has sae mony bairns — 
Cod bless them and her — that troth I maun speak to Lord 
Evandale to gie us a bit eik or outshot o’ some sort to the on- 
stead.” 

“ I shall be easily accommodated,” said the stranger, as he 
entered the house. 

“And ye may rely on your naig being weel sorted,” said 
Cuddie ; “ I ken weel what belangs to suppering a horse, and 
this is a very gude ane.” 

Cuddie took the horse to the little cow-house, and called 
to his wife to attend in the meanwhile to the stranger’s accom- 
modation. The officer entered and threw himself on a settle 
at some distance from the fire, carefully turning his back to 
the little lattice window. Jenny, or Mrs. Headrigg, if the 
reader pleases, requested him to lay aside the cloak, belt, and 
flapped hat which he wore upon his journey, but he excused 
himself under pretence of feeling cold ; and to divert the 
time till Cuddie’s return he entered into some chat with the 
children, carefully avoiding, during the interval, the inquis- 
itive glances of his landlady. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 


What tragic tears bedim the eye ! 

What deaths we suffer ere we die ! 

Our broken friendships we deplore, 

And loves of youth that are no more. 

Logan. 

Cuddie soon returned, assuring the stranger, with a cheerful 
voice, “that the horse was properly suppered up, and that 
the gudewife should make a bed up for him at the house, mair 
purpose-like and comfortable than the like o' them could gie 

“ Are the family at the house ?" said the stranger, with 
an interrupted and broken voice. 

“No, stir ; they're awa' wi' a' the servants — they keep only 
twa nowadays — and my gudewife there has the keys and the 
charge, though she's no a fee'd servant. She has been born and 
bred in the family, and has a'drust and management. If they 
were there we behovedna to take sic freedom without their 
order ; but when they are awa' they will be weel pleased we 
serve a stranger gentleman. Miss Bellenden wad help a' the 
haill warld, an her power were as gude as her will ; and her 
grandmother, Leddy Margaret, has an unco respect for the 
gentry, and she's no ill to the poor bodies neither. And now, 
wife, what for are ye no getting forrit wi' the sowens ? " 
“'Never mind, lad," rejoined Jenny, “ye sail hae them in 
gude time ; I ken weel that ye like your brose het." 

Cuddie fidgeted, and laughed with a peculiar expression 
of intelligence at this repartee, which was followed by a dia- 
logue of little consequence betwixt his wife and him, in which 
the stranger took no share. At length he suddenly inter- 
rupted them by the question — “ Can you tell me when Lord 
Evandale's marriage takes place ? " 

“Very soon, we expect," answered Jenny, before it was 
possible for her husband to reply ; “it wad hae been ower 
afore now, but for the death o' auld Major Bellenden." 

“The excellent old man !" said the stranger ; “I heard 
at Edinburgh he was no more. Was he long ill ?" 

« fie couldjaa be said to baud up his head after hi§ 

331 


332 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


brother’s wife and his niece were turned out o’ their ain house ; 
and he had himsell sair borrowing siller to stand the law ; but 
it was in the latter end o’ King James’s days, and Basil Oli- 
fant, who claimed the estate, turned a Papist to please the 
managers, and then naething was to be refused him ; sae the 
law gaed again the leddies at last, after they had fought a 
weary sort o’ years about it ; and, as I said before, the Major 
ne’er held up his head again. And then cam the pitting awa’ 
o’ the Stewart line ; and, though he had but little reason to 
like them, he couldna brook that, and it clean broke the heart 
o’ him, and creditors cam to Charnwood and cleaned out a’ that 
was there : he was never rich, the gude auld man, for he dow’d 
na see onybody want.” 

“ He was indeed,” said the stranger, with a faltering voice, 
“ an admirable man ; that is, I have heard that he was so. 
So the ladies were left without fortune as well as without a 
protector ? ” 

“ They will neither want the tane nor the tother while Lord 
Evandale lives,” said Jenny ; “ he has been a true friend in 
their griefs. E’en to the house they live in is his lordship’s ; 
and never man, as my auld gudemother used to say, since the 
days of the patriarch Jacob, served sae lang and sae sair for a 
wife as gude Lord Evandale has dune.” 

“ And why,” said the stranger, with a voice that quivered 
with emotion — “ why was he not sooner rewarded by the ob- 
ject of his attachment ?” 

“ There was the lawsuit to be ended,” said Jenny, readily, 
(i forbye many other family arrangements.” 

“ Na, but,” said Cuddie, “ there was another reason for- 
bye ; for the young leddy ” 

“ Whisht, baud your tongue and sup your sowens,” said 
his wife. “ I see the gentleman’s far frae weel, and downa 
eat our coarse supper ; I wad kill him a chicken in an instant.” 

“ There is no occasion,” said the stranger ; “ I shall want 
only a glass of water, and to be left alone.” 

“ You’ll gie yoursell the trouble then to follow me,” said 
Jenny, lighting a small lantern, “ and I’ll show you the way.” 

Cuddie also proffered his assistance ; but his wife reminded 
him, “ That the bairns would be left to fight thegither and 
coup ane anither into the fire,” so that he remained to take 
charge of the menage. 

His wife led the way up a little winding path, which, 
after threading some thickets of sweetbriar and honeysuckle, 
conducted to the back-door of a small garden. Jenny undid 
the latch ; and they passed through an old-fashioned flower- 


OLD MORTALITY 


338 


garden, with its clipped yew hedges and formal parterres, to 
a glass-sashed door, which she opened with a master-key, and 
lighting a candle, which she placed upon a small work-table, 
asked pardon for leaving him there for a few minutes until 
she prepared his apartment. She did not exceed five minutes 
in these preparations ; but when she returned was startled to 
find that the stranger had’sunk forward with his head upon 
the table, in what she at first apprehended to be a swoon. As 
she advanced to him, however, she could discover by his short- 
drawn sobs that it was a paroxysm of mental agony. She 
prudently drew back until he raised his head, and then show- 
ing herself, without seeming to have observed his agitation, 
informed him that his bed was prepared. The stranger 
gazed at her a moment as if to collect the sense of her words. 
She repeated them, and only bending his head as an indica- 
tion that he understood her, he entered the apartment, the 
door o± which she pointed out to him. It was a small bed- 
chamber, used, as she informed him, by Lord Evandale when 
a guest at Fairy Knowe, connecting on one side with a little 
china-cabinet which opened to the garden, and on the other 
with a saloon, from which it was only separated by a thin 
wainscot partition. Having wished the stranger better 
health and good rest, Jenny descended as speedily as she could 
to her own mansion. 

“ 0, Ouddie ! ” she exclaimed to her helpmate as she en- 
tered, “ I doubt we’re ruined folk ! ” 

f ‘ How can that be ? What’s the matter wi’ ye ? ” returned 
the unperturbed Cuddie, who was one of those persons who 
do not easily take alarm at anything. 

“Whad’ye think yon gentleman is? 0, that ever ye 
suld hae asked him to light here !” exclaimed Jenny. 

“ Why, wha the muckle deil d’ye say he is ? There’s nae 
law against harboring and intercommunicating now,” said 
Cuddie ; “ sae, Whig or Tory, what need we care wha he be ? ” 

“ Av, but it’s ane will ding Lord Evandale’s marriage ajee 
yet, if It’s no the better looked to,” said Jenny ; “it’s Miss 
Edith’s first jo, your ain auld maister, Cuddie.” 

“The deil, woman!” exclaimed Cuddie, starting up, 
“ trow ye that I am blind ? I wad hae kenn’d Mr. Harry 
Morton amang a hunder.” 

“ Ay, but, Cuddie lad,” replied Jenny, “though ye are no 
blind, ye are no sae notice-taking as I am.” 

“ Weel, what for needs ye cast that up to me just now ? or 
what did ye see about the man that was like our Maister 
Harry?” 


384 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


“ I will tell ye," said Jenny. 44 I jaloused his keeping his 
face frae us, and speaking wi’ a made-like voice, sae I e’en tried 
him wi’ some tales o’ lang syne, and when I spake o’ the brose, 
ye ken, he didna just laugh — he’s ower grave for that nowadays 
— but he gae a gledge wi’ liis ee that I kenn’d he took up what 
I said. And a’ his distress is about Miss Edith’s marriage, 
and I ne’er saw a man mair taen down wi’ true love in my 
days — I might say man or woman, only I mind how ill Miss 
Edith was when she first gat word that him and you — ye muckle 
graceless loon — were coming against Tillietudlem wi’ the 
rebels. But what’s the matter wi’ the man now ? ’’ 

44 What’s the matter wi’ me, indeed ! ” said Cuddie, who 
was again hastily putting on some of the garments he had 
stripped himself of. 44 Am I no gaun up this instant to see 
my maister ? ” 

44 Atweel, Cuddie, ye are gaun nae sic gate,’’ said Jenny, 
coolly and resolutely. 

44 The deil’s in the wife ! ’’ said Cuddie ; 44 d’ye think I am 
to be Joan Tainson’s man, and maistered by women a’ the 
days o’ my life ? ” 

44 And whase man wad ye be ? And wha wad ye hae to mais- 
ter ye but me, Cuddie lad ?” answered Jenny. “I’ll gar ye 
comprehend in the making of a hay-band. Naebody kens that 
this young gentleman is living but oursells, and frae that he 
keeps himsell up sae close, I am judging that he’s purposing 
if he fand Miss Edith either married or just gaun to be mar- 
ried, he wad just slide awa’ easy, and gie them nae mair 
trouble. But if Miss Edith kenn’d that he was living, and if 
she were standing before the very minister wi’ Lord Evandale 
when it was tauld to her, I’se warrant she wad say 4 No ’ when 
she suld say 4 Yes.’” 

44 Weel,” replied Cuddie, 44 and what’s my business wi’ 
that ? If Miss Edith likes her auld jo better than her new 
ane, what for suld she no be free to change her mind like other 
folk ? Ye ken, Jenny, Halliday aye threeps he had a promise 
frae yoursell.’’ 

4 4 Halliday’s a liar, and ye’re naething but a gomeril to 
hearken till him, Cuddie. And then for this leddy’s choice, 
lack-a-day ! ye may be sure a’ the gowd Mr. Morton has is on 
the outside o’ his coat, and how can he keep Leddy Margaret 
and the young leddy ? ” 

44 Isna there Milnwood ?” said Cuddie. 44 Nae doubt, the 
auld laird left his housekeeper the life-rent, as he heard naught 
o’ his nephew ; but it’s but speaking the auld wife fair, and 
they may a’ live brawly thegither, Leddy Margaret and ftV* 


OLD MORTALITY 


335 


“ Hout tout, lad,” replied Jenny, “ ye ken them little to 
think leddies o’ their rank wad set up house wi’ auld Ailie 
Wilson, when they’re maist ower proud to take favors frae 
Lord Evandale himsell. Na, na, they maun follow the camp, 
if she tak Morton.” 

“ That wad sort ill wi’ the auld leddy, to he sure,” said 
Ouddie ; “ she wad hardly win ower a lang day in the baggage- 
wain.” 

“ Then sic a flyting as there wad be between them, a’ about 
Whig and Tory,” continued Jenny. 

“ To be sure,” said Cuddie, “the auld leddy’s unco kittle 
in tliae points.” 

“And then, Cuddie,” continued his helpmate, who had 
reserved her strongest argument to the last, “ if this marriage 
wi’ Lord Evandale is broken off, what comes o’ our ain bit 
free house, and the kale-yard, and the cow’s grass ? I trow 
that baith us and thae bonny bairns will be turned on the 
wide warld ! ” 

Here Jenny began to whimper. Cuddie writhed himself 
this way and that way, the very picture of indecision. At 
length he broke out, “ Weel, woman, canna ye tell us what we 
suld do, without a’ this din about it ?” 

“Just do naething at a’,” said Jenny. “Never seem to 
ken onything about this gentleman, and for your life say a 
word that he suld hae been here, or up at the house ! An I 
had kenn’d, I wad hae gien him my ain bed and sleepit in 
the byre or he had gane up-bye : but it canna be helpit now. 
The neist thing’s to get him cannily awa’ the morn, and I 
judge he’ll be in nae hurry to come back again.” 

“ My puir maister ! ” said Cuddie ; “ and maun I no speak 
to him, then ? ” 

“For your life, no,” said Jenny; “ye’re no obliged to 
ken him ; and I wadna hae tauld ye, only I feared ye wad ken 
him in the morning.” 

“Aweel,” said Cuddie, sighing heavily, “I’se awa’ to 
pleugh the outfield, then ; for, if I am no to speak to him, I 
wad rather be out o’ the gate.” 

“Very right, my dear hinny,” replied Jenny ; “naebody 
has better sense than you when ye crack a bit wi’ me ower your 
affairs, but ye suld ne’er do onything aff-hand out o’ your ain 
head.” 

“ Ane wad think it’s true,” quoth Cuddie ; “ for I hae aye 
had some carline or quean or another to gar me gang their 
gate instead o’ my ain. There was first my mither,” he con- 
tinued, as he undressed and tumbled himself into bed ; “ then 


836 


WAVE RLE Y NOVELS 

there was Leddy Margaret didna let me ca’ my soul my am ; 
then my mither and her quarrelled, and pu’ed me twa ways at 
anes, as if ilk ane had an end o’ me, like Punch and the Deevil 
rugging about the Baker at the fair ; and now I hae gotten a 
wife,” he murmured in continuation, as he stowed the blankets 
around his person, “and she’s like to tak the guiding o’ me a’ 
thegither.” 

“ And amna I the best guide ye ever had in a’ your life ?” 
said Jenny, as she closed the conversation by assuming her 
place beside her husband and extinguishing the candle. 

Leaving this couple to their repose, we have next to inform 
the reader that, early on the next morning, two ladies on 
horseback, attended by their servants, arrived at the house of 
Fairy Knowe, whom, to Jenny’s utter confusion, she instantly 
recognized as Miss Bellenden and Lady Emily Hamilton, a 
sister of Lord E vandal e. 

“ Had I no better gang to the house to put things to rights ? ” 
said Jenny, confounded with this unexpected apparition. 

“We want nothing but the pass-key,” said Miss Bellenden. 
“ Gruayill will open the windows of the little parlor.” 

“ The little parlor’s locked, and the lock’s spoiled,” an- 
swered Jenny, who recollected the local sympathy between that 
apartment and the bedchamber of her guest. 

“ In the red parlor, then,” said Miss Bellenden, and rode up 
to the front of the house, but by an approach different from 
that through which Morton had been conducted. 

“ All will be out,” thought Jenny, “unless I can get him 
smuggled out of the house the back way.” 

So saying, she sped up the bank in great tribulation and 
uncertainty. 

“ I had better hae said at ance there was a stranger there,” 
was her next natural reflection. “ But then they wad hae been 
for asking him to breakfast. 0, safe us ! what will I do ? 
And there’s G-udyill walking in the garden, too ! ” she ex- 
claimed internally, on approaching the wicket, “andldaurna 
gang in the back way till he’s aff the coast. 0, sirs ! what will 
become of us ? ” 

In this state of perplexity she approached the ci-devant 
butler, with the purpose of decoying him out of the garden. 
But J ohn G-udyill’s temper was not improved by his decline 
in rank and increase in years. Like many peevish people, 
too, he seemed to have an intuitive perception as to what was 
most likely to teaze those whom he conversed with ; and on 
the present occasion all Jenny’s efforts to remove him from 
the garden served only to root him in it as fast as if he had 


OLD MORTALITY 


33 ? 

been one of the shrubs. Unluckily, also, he had commenced 
florist during his residence at Fairy Knowe, and, leaving all 
other things to the charge of Lady Emily's servant, his first 
care was dedicated to the flowers, which he had taken under 
his special protection, and which he propped, dug, and watered, 
prosing all the while upon their respective merits to poor Jenny, 
who stood by him trembling, and almost crying, with anxiety, 
fear, and impatience. 

Fate seemed determined to win a match against Jenny this 
unfortunate morning. As soon as the ladies entered the house 
they observed that the door of the little parlor, the very apart- 
ment out of which she was desirous of excluding them on ac- 
count of its contiguity to the room in which Morton slept, 
was not only unlocked, but absolutely ajar. Miss Bellenden 
was too much engaged with her own immediate subjects of 
reflection to take much notice of the circumstance, but, desir- 
ing the servant to open the window-shutters, walked into the 
room along with her friend. 

“ He is not yet come," she said. “ What can your brother 
possibly mean ? Why express so anxious a wish that we 
should meet him here ? And why not come to Castle Din- 
nan, as he proposed ? I own, my dear Emily, that, even en- 
gaged as we are to each other, and with the sanction of your 
presence, I do not feel that I have done quite right in indulge 
ing him." 

“ Evandale was never capricious," answered his sister ; “ I 
am sure he will satisfy us with his reasons, and if he does not 
I will help you to scold him." 

f ‘ What I chiefly fear," said Edith, “ is his having engaged 
in some of the plots of this fluctuating and unhappy time. I 
know his heart is with that dreadful Claverhouse and his army, 
and I believe he would have joined them ere now but for my 
uncle's death, which gave him so much additional trouble on 
our account. How singular that one so rational and so deeply 
sensible of the errors of the exiled family should be ready to 
risk all for their restoration ! ” 

“ What can I say_?" answered Lady Emily ; “ it is a point 
of honor with Evandale. Our family have always been loyal; 
he served long in the Guards ; the Viscount of Dundee was 
his commander and his friend for years ; he is looked on with 
an evil eye by many of his own relations, who set down his 
inactivity to the score of want of spirit. You must be aware, 
my dear Edith, how often family connections and early 
predilections influence our actions more than abstract argu- 
ments. But I trust Evandale will continue quiet, though, to 


338 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


tell you truth, I believe you are the only one who can keep 
him so.” 

“ And how is it in my power ? ” said Miss Bellenden. 

“ You can furnish him with the Scriptural apology for not 
going forth with the host : ‘ He has married a wife, and there- 
fore cannot come/” 

“ I have promised,” said Edith, in a faint voice ; “ but I 
trust I shall not be urged on the score of time.” 

“Nay,” said Lady Emily, “I will leave Evandale — and 
here he comes — to plead his own cause.” 

“ Stay, stay, for God’s sake !” said Edith, endeavoring to 
detain her. 

“Not I — not I,” said the young lady, making her escape ; 
“the third person makes a silly figure on such occasions. 
When you want me for breakfast I will be found in the willow- 
walk by the river.” 

As she tripped out of the room, Lord ' Evandale entered. 
“ Good-morrow, brother, and good-bye till breakfast- time,” 
said the lively young lady ; “I trust you will give Miss Bel- 
lenden some good reasons for disturbing her rest so early in 
the morning.” 

And so saying, she left them together, without waiting a 
reply. 

“ And now, my lord,” said Edith, “ may I desire to know 
the meaning of your singular request to meet you here at so 
early an hour ? ” 

She was about to add, that she hardly felt herself excus- 
able in having complied with it ; but, upon looking at the 
person whom she addressed, she was struck dumb by the 
singular and agitated expression of his countenance, and in- 
terrupted herself to exclaim — “ For God’s sake, what is the 
matter ? ” 

“His Majesty’s faithful subjects have gained a great and 
most decisive victory near Blair of Athole ; but, alas ! my 
gallant friend, Lord Dundee ” 

“Has fallen?” said Edith, anticipating the rest of his 
tidings. 

“ True — most true ; he has fallen in the arms of victory, 
and not a man remains of talents and influence sufficient to 
fill up his loss in King James’s service. This, Edith, is no 
time for temporizing with our duty. I have given directions 
to raise my followers, and I must take leave of you this even- 
ing.” 

“Do not think of it, my lord,” answered Edith ; “your 
life is essential to your friends : do not throw it away in an ad- 


OLD MORTALITY 


339 


venture so rash. What can your single arm, and the few 
tenants or servants who might follow yon, do against the force 
of almost all Scotland, the Highland clans only excepted ? ” 

“Listen to me, Edith,” said Lord Evandale. “I am not 
so rash as yon may suppose me, nor are my present motives of 
such light importance as to affect only those personally de- 
pendent on myself. The Life Guards, with whom I served so 
long, although new-modelled and new-officered by the Prince 
of Orange, retain a predilection for the cause of their rightful 
master ; and [and here he whispered as if he feared even the 
walls of the apartment had ears] when my foot is known to 
be in the stirrup two regiments of cavalry have sworn to re- 
nounce the usurper's service and fight under my orders. They 
delayed only till Dundee should descend into the Lowlands ; 
but, since he is no more, which of his successors dare take 
that decisive step, unless encouraged by the troops declaring 
themselves ? Meantime, the zeal of the soldiers will die away. 
I must bring them to a decision while their hearts are glow- 
ing with the victory their old leader has obtained, and burn- 
ing to avenge his untimely death.” 

“ And will you, on the faith of such men as you know 
these soldiers to be,” said Edith, “ take a part of such dread- 
ful moment ?” 

“ I will,” said Lord Evandale — “I must ; my honor and 
loyalty are both pledged for it.” 

“ And all for the sake,” continued Miss Bellenden, “ of a 
prince whose measures, while he was on the throne, no one 
could condemn more than Lord Evandale ? ” 

“ Most true,” replied Lord Evandale ; “ and as I resented, 
even during the plenitude of his power, his innovations on 
church and state, like a freeborn subject, I am determined I 
will assert his real rights when he is in adversity, like a loyal 
one. Let courtiers and sycophants flatter power and desert 
misfortune ; I will neither do the one nor the other.” 

“ And if you are determined to act what my feeble judg- 
ment must still term rashly, why give yourself the pain oi 
this untimely meeting ? ” 

“Were it not enough to answer,” said Lord Evandale, 
“ that, ere rushing on battle, I wished to bid adieu to my be- 
trothed bride ? Surely it is judging coldly of my feelings, 
and showing too plainly the indifference of your own, to 
question my motive for a request so natural.” 

“ But why in this place, my lord ?” said Edith; “and 
why with such peculiar circumstances of mystery ? ” 

Because/' he replied, putting a letter into her hand, 


340 


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have yet another request, which I dare hardly proffer, even 
when prefaced by these credentials.” 

In haste and terror Edith glanced over the letter, whioh 
was from her grandmother. 

“ My dearest childe,” such was its tenor in style and spell- 
ing, “I never more deeply regretted the reumatizm, which 
disqualified me from riding on horseback, than at this present 
writing, when I would most have wished to be where this 
paper will soon he, that is at Fairy Knowe, with my poor 
dear Willie’s only child. But it is the will of God I should 
not be with her, which I conclude to be the case, as much for 
the pain I now suffer as because it hath now not given way 
either to cammomile poultices or to decoxion of wild mustard, 
wherewith I have often relieved others. Therefore, I must 
tell you, by writing instead of word of mouth, that, as my 
young Lord Evandale is called to the present campaign both 
by his honor and his duty, he hath earnestly solicited me 
that the bonds of holy matrimony be knitted before his de- 
parture to the wars between you and him, in implement of 
the indenture formerly entered into for that effeck, where- 
untill, as I see no raisonable objexion, so I trust that you, who 
have been always a good and obedient childe, will not devize 
any which has less than raison. It is trew that the contrax 
of our house have heretofore been celebrated in a manner 
more befitting our Rank, and not in private, and with few 
witnesses, as a thing done in a corner. But it has been Heav- 
en’s own freewill, as well as those of the kingdom where we 
live, to take away from us our estate, and from the King his 
throne. Yet I trust He will yet restore the rightful heir to 
the throne, and turn his heart to the true Protestant Episco- 
pal faith, which I have the better right to expect to see even 
with my old eyes, as I have beheld the royal family when they 
were struggling as sorely with masterful usurpers and rebels 
as they are now : that is to say, when his most sacred Maj- 
esty, Charles the Second of happy memory, honored our 
poor house of Tillietudlem by taking his disjune therein,” 
etc., etc., etc. 

We will not abuse the reader’s patience by quoting more of 
Ladv Margaret’s prolix epistle. Suffice it to say, that it closed 
by laying her commands on her grandchild to consent to the 
solemnization of her marriage without loss of time. 

“ I never thought till this instant,” said Edith, dropping 
the letter from her hand, “that Lord Evandale would have 
acted ungenerously.” 

“ Ungenerously, Edith !” replied her lover. “And how 


OLD MORTALITY 


341 


can yon apply such a term to my desire to call you mine ere I 
part from you perhaps forever ? ” 

“ Lord Evandale ought to have remembered,” said Edith, 
“ that when his perseverance, and, I must add, a due sense of 
his merit and of the obligations we owed him, wrung from me 
a slow consent that I would one day comply with his wishes, 
I made it my condition that I should not be pressed to a hasty 
accomplishment of my promise ; and now he avails himself of 
his interest with my only remaining relative to hurry me with 
precipitate and even indelicate importunity. There is more 
selfishness then generosity, my lord, in such eager and urgent 
solicitation.” 

Lord Evandale, evidently much hurt, took two or three 
turns through the apartment ere he replied to this accusation ; 
at length he spoke — e f I should have escaped this painful charge, 
durst I at once have mentioned to Miss Bellenden my princi- 
pal reason for urging this request. It is one which she will 
probably despise on her own account, but which ought to 
weigh with her for the sake of Lady Margaret. My death in 
battle must give my whole estate to my heirs of entail ; my 
forfeiture as a traitor, by the usurping government, may vest 
it in the Prince of Orange or some Dutch favorite. In either 
case, my venerable friend and betrothed bride must remain 
unprotected and in poverty. Vested with the rights and pro- 
visions of Lady Evandale, Edith will find, in the power of 
supporting her aged parent, some consolation for having con- 
descended to share the titles and fortunes of one who does 
not pretend to be worthy of her.” 

Edith v r as struck dumb by an argument which she had not 
expected, and was compelled to acknowledge that Lord Evan- 
dale’s suit was urged wfith delicacy as w T ell as with considera- 
tion. 

“And yet,” she said, “such is the waywardness with 
which my heart reverts to former times, that I cannot [she 
burst into tears] suppress a degree of ominous reluctance at 
fulfilling my engagement upon such a brief summons.” 

“ We have already fully considered this painful subject,” 
said Lord Evandale ; “ and I hoped, my dear Edith, your 
own inquiries, as well as mine, had fully convinced you that 
these regrets were fruitless.” 

“Fruitless indeed !” said Edith, with a deep sigh, which, 
as if by an unexpected echo, was repeated from the adjoining* 
apartment. Miss Bellenden started at the sound, and scarcely 
composed herself upon Lord Evandale's assurances that she 
Ji^d hear4 but the echo of her own respiratiou. 


342 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


“ It sounded strangely distinct,” she said, “and almost 
ominous ; but my feelings are so harassed that the slightest 
trifle agitates them.” 

Lord Eyandale eagerly attempted to soothe her alarm, and 
reconcile her to a measure which, however hasty, appeared 
to him the only means by which he could secure her inde- 
pendence. He urged his claim in virtue of the contract, her 
grandmother’s wish and command, the propriety of insuring 
her comfort and independence, and touched lightly on his 
own long attachment, which he had evinced by so many and 
such varied services. These Edith felt the more the less they 
were insisted upon ; and at length, as she had nothing to 
oppose to his ardor excepting a causeless reluctance, which 
she herself was ashamed to oppose against so much generos- 
ity, she was compelled to rest upon the impossibility of hav- 
ing the ceremony performed upon such hasty notice at such 
a time and place. But for all this Lord Evandale was pre- 
pared, and he explained with joyful alacrity that the former 
chaplain of his regiment was in attendance at the lodge with 
a faithful domestic, once a non-commissioned officer in the 
same corps ; that his sister was also possessed of the secret ; 
and that Headrigg and his wife might be added to the list of 
witnesses, if agreeable to Miss Bellenden. As to the place, 
he had chosen it on very purpose. The marriage was to re- 
main a secret, since Lord Evandale was to depart in disguise 
very soon after it was solemnized, a circumstance which, had 
their union been public, must have drawn upon him the at- 
tention of the government, as being altogether unaccountable, 
unless from his being engaged in some dangerous design. 
Having hastily urged these motives and explained his arrange- 
ments, he ran, without waiting for an answer, to summon his 
sister to attend his bride, while he went in search of the other 
persons whose presence was necessary. 

When Lady Emily arrived, she found her friend in an agony 
of tears, of which she was at some loss to comprehend the 
reason, being one of those damsels who think there is nothing 
either wonderful or terrible in matrimony, and joining with 
most who knew him in thinking that it could not be rendered 
peculiarly alarming by Lord Evandale being the bridegroom. 
Influenced by these feelings, she exhausted in succession all 
the usual arguments for courage, and all the expressions of 
sympathy and condolence ordinarily employed on such occa- 
sions. But when Lady Emily beheld her future sister-in-law 
deaf to all those ordinary topics of consolation ; when she beheld 
tears follow fast and without intermission down cheeks as 


OLD MORTALITY 


843 


pale as marble ; when she felt that the hand which she pressed 
in order to enforce her arguments turned cold within her 
grasp, and lay, like that of a corpse, insensible and unrespon- 
sive to her caresses, her feelings of sympathy gave way to those 
of hurt pride and pettish displeasure. 

“I must own/’ she said, “ that I am something at a loss 
to understand all this, Miss Bellenden. Months have passed 
since you agreed to marry my brother, and you have postponed 
the fulfilment of your engagement from one period to another, 
as if you had to avoid some dishonorable or highly disagreeable 
connection. I think I can answer for Lord Evandale that he 
will seek no woman's hand against her inclination ; and, though 
his sister, I may boldly say that he does not need to urge any 
lady further than her inclinations carry her. You will forgive 
me, Miss Bellenden, but your present distress augurs ill for 
my brother's future happiness, and I must needs say that he 
does not merit all these expressions of dislike and dolor, and 
that they seem an odd return for an attachment which he has 
manifested so long and in so many ways." 

“ You are right. Lady Emily," said Edith, drying her eyes 
and endeavoring to resume her natural manner, though still 
betrayed by her faltering voice and the paleness of her cheeks 
— f * you are quite right ; Lord Evandale merits such usage from 
no one, least of all from her whom he has honored with his 
regard. But if I have given way, for the last time, to a sud- 
den and irresistible burst of feeling, it is my consolation. Lady 
Emily, that your brother knows the cause, that I have hid 
nothing from him, and that he at least is not apprehensive of 
finding in Edith Bellenden a wife undeserving of his affection. 
But still you are right, and I merit your censure for indulging 
for a moment fruitless regret and painful remembrances. It 
shall be so no longer ; my lot is cast with Evandale, and with 
him I am resolved to bear it. Nothing shall in future occur 
to excite his complaints or the resentment of his relations ; no 
idle recollections of other daj^s shall intervene to prevent the 
zealous and affectionate discharge of my duty ; no vain illusions 
recall the memory of other days " 

As she spoke these words, she slowly raised her eyes, which 
had before been hidden by her hand, to the latticed window of 
her apartment, which was partly open, uttered a dismal shriek, 
and fainted. Lady Emily turned her eyes in the same direc- 
tion, but saw only the shadow of a man, which seemed to dis- 
appear from the window, and terrified more by the state of 
Edith than by the apparition she had herself witnessed, she 
uttered shriek upon shriek for assistance. Her brother soon 


344 


WAVE RLE V novels 


arrived with the chaplain and Jenny Dennison ; but strong 
and vigorous remedies were necessary ere they could recall 
Miss Bellenden to sense and motion. Even then her language 
was wild and incoherent. 

“ Press me no further/’ she said to Lord Evandale ; “ it 
cannot be : Heaven and earth, the living and the dead, have 
leagued themselves against this ill-omened union. Take all I 
can give, my sisterly regard, my devoted friendship. I will 
love you as a sister and serve you as a bondswoman, but never 
speak to me more of marriage.” 

The astonishment of Lord Evandale may easily be con- 
ceived. 

“ Emily,” he said to his sister, “ this is your doing ; I was 
accursed when I thought of bringing you here ; some of your 
confounded folly has driven her mad ! ” 

“ On my word, brother,” answered Lady Emily, “ you’re 
sufficient to drive all the women in Scotland mad. Because 
your mistress seems much disposed to jilt you, you quarrel with 
your sister, who has been arguing in your cause, and had 
brought her to a quiet hearing, when all of a sudden a man 
looked in at a window, whom her crazed sensibility mistook 
either for you or some one else, and has treated us gratis with 
an excellent tragic scene.” 

“What man ? What window ?” said Lord Evandale, in 
impatient displeasure. “ Miss Bellenden is incapable of tri- 
fling with me ; and yet what else could have ” 

“ Hush ! hush !” said Jenny, whose interest lay particu- 
larly in shifting further inquiry ; “ for Heaven’s sake, my 
lord, speak low, for my lady begins to recover.” 

Edith was no sooner somewhat restored to herself than she 
begged, in a feeble voice, to be left alone with Lord Evandale. 
All retreated, Jenny with her usual air of officious simplicity. 
Lady Emily and the chaplain with that of awakened curiosity. 
No sooner had they left the apartment than Edith beckoned 
Lord Evandale to sit beside her on the couch ; her next motion 
was to take his hand, in spite of his surprised resistance, to 
her lips ; her last was to sink from her seat and to clasp his 
knees. 

“ Forgive me, my lord ! ” she exclaimed — “ forgive me ! I 
must deal most untruly by you, and break a solemn engage- 
ment. You have my friendship, my highest regard, my most 
sincere gratitude. You have more : you have my word and my 
faith. But, 0, forgive me, for the fault is not mine — you have 
not my love, and I cannot marry you without a sin ! ” 

“You dream, my dearest Edith !” said Evandale, per- 


OLD MORTALITY 


845 


plexed in the utmost degree ; “ you let your imagination be- 
guile you ; this is but some delusion of an over-sensitive mind. 
The person whom you preferred to me has been long in a better 
world, where your unavailing regret cannot follow him, or, if 
it could, would only diminish his happiness.” 

“ You are mistaken. Lord Evandale,” said Edith, solemnly, 
“ I am not a sleep-walker or a madwoman. No ; I could not 
have believed from any one what I have seen. But, having 
seen him, I must believe mine own eyes.” 

“Seen him 9 — seen whom?” asked Lord Evandale, in 
great anxiety. 

“ Henry Morton,” replied Edith, uttering these two words 
as if they were her last, and very nearly fainting when she had 
done so. 

“Miss Bellenden,” said Lord Evandale, “you treat me 
like a fool or a child. If you repent your engagement to me,” 
he continued, indignantly, “I am not a man to enforce it 
against your inclination ; but deal with me as a man, and for- 
bear this trifling.” 

He was about to go on, when he perceived, from her quiv- 
ering eye and pallid cheek, that nothing was less intended than 
imposture, and that by whatever means her imagination had 
been so impressed, it was really disturbed by unaffected awe 
and terror. He changed his tone, and exerted all his eloquence 
in endeavoring to soothe and extract from her the secret cause 
of such terror. 

“ I saw him !” she repeated — “ I saw Henry Morton stand 
at that window, and look into the apartment at the moment 
I was on the point of abjuring him forever. His face was 
darker, thinner, and paler than it was wont to be ; his dress 
was a horseman's cloak, and hat looped down over his face ; 
his expression was like that he wore on that dreadful morn' 
ing when he was examined by Claverhouse at Tillietudlem. 
Ask your sister — ask Lady Emily, if she did not see him as 
well as I. I know what has called him up ; he came to up- 
braid me, that, while my heart was with him in the deep and 
dead sea, I was about to give my hand to another. My lord, 
it is ended between you and me ; be the consequences what 
they will, she cannot marry whose union disturbs the repose 
of the dead.”* 

“Good heaven!” said Evandale, as he paced the room, 
half mad himself with surprise and vexation, “her fine under- 
standing must be totally overthrown, and that by the effort 
which she has made to comply with my ill-timed, though well- 

* See Supposed Apparition of Morton. Note 35. 


346 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


meant, request. Without rest and attention her health is 
ruined forever.” 

At this moment the door opened, and Halliday, who had 
been Lord Evandale’s principal personal attendant since they 
both left the Guards on the Revolution, stumbled into the 
room with a countenance as pale and ghastly as terror could 
paint it. 

“ What is the matter next, Halliday ?” cried his master, 
starting up. “ Any discovery of the ” 

He had just recollection sufficient to stop short in the 
midst of the dangerous sentence. 

“No, sir,” said Halliday, “it is not that, nor anything like 
that ; but I have seen a ghost ! ” 

“ A ghost ! you eternal idiot ! ” said Lord Evandale, forced 
altogether out of his patience. “ Has all mankind sworn to 
go mad in order to drive me so ? What ghost, you simple- 
ton ?” 

“ The ghost of Henry Morton, the Whig captain at Both- 
well Bridge/’ replied Halliday. “ He passed by me like a fire- 
flaught when I was in the garden ! ” 

“ This is midsummer madness,” said Lord Evandale, “ or 
there is some strange vill any afloat. Jenny, attend your lady 
to her chamber, while I endeavor to find a clue to all this.” 

But Lord Evandale’s inquiries were in vain. J enny, who 
might have given, had she chosen, a very satisfactory explana- 
tion, had an interest to leave the matter in darkness ; and in- 
terest was a matter which now weighed principally with Jenny, 
since the possession of an active and affectionate husband in 
her own proper right had altogether allayed her spirit of co- 
quetry. She had made the best use of the first moments of 
confusion hastily to remove all traces of any one having slept 
in the apartment adjoining to the parlor, and even to erase 
the mark of footsteps beneath the window, through which she 
conjectured Morton’s face had been seen, while attempting, 
ere he left the garden, to gain one look at her whom he had 
so long loved, and was now on the point of losing forever. 
That he had passed Halliday in the garden was equally clear ; 
and she learned from her elder boy, whom she had employed 
to have the stranger’s horse saddled and ready for his depart- 
ure, that he had rushed into the stable, thrown the child a 
broad gold piece, and, mounting his horse, had ridden with 
fearful rapidity down towards the Clyde. The secret was, 
therefore, in their own family, and Jenny was resolved it should 
remain so. 

“Eor, to be sure,” she said, “although her lady and Hal- 


OLD MORTALITY 


347 


liday kenned Mr. Morton by broad daylight, that was nae reason 
I suld own to kenning him in the gloaming and by candle- 
light, and him keeping his face frae Cuddie and me a* the 
time.” 

So she stood resolutely upon the negative when examined 
by Lord Evandale. As for Halliday, he could only say that, 
as he entered the garden-door, the supposed apparition met 
him walking swiftly, and with a visage on which anger and 
grief appeared to be contending. 

“He knew him well,” he said, “having been repeatedly 
guard upon him, and obliged to write down his marks of stat- 
ure and visage in case of escape. And there were few faces 
like Mr. Morton's.” But what should make him haunt the 
country where he was neither hanged nor shot, he, the said 
Halliday, did not pretend to conceive. 

Lady Emily confessed she had seen the face of a man at 
the window, but her evidence went no further. John Gud- 
yill deponed nil novit in causa. He had left his gardening 
to get his morning dram just at the time when the appari- 
tion had taken place. Lady Emily's servant was waiting 
orders in the kitchen, and there was not another being within 
a quarter of a mile of the house. 

Lord Evandale returned perplexed and dissatisfied in the 
highest degree at beholding a plan which he thought neces- 
sary not less for the protection of Edith in contingent cir- 
cumstances than for the assurance of his own happiness, and 
which lie had brought so very near perfection, thus broken off 
without any apparent or rational cause. His knowledge of 
Edith's character set her beyond the suspicion of covering 
any capricious change of determination by a pretended vi- 
sion. But he would have set the apparition down to the influ- 
ence of an overstrained imagination, agitated by the circum- 
stances in which she had so suddenly been placed, had it not 
been for the coinciding testimony of Halliday, who had no 
reason for thinking of Morton more than any other person, 
and knew nothing of Miss Bellenden's vision when he pro- 
mulgated his own. On the other hand, it seemed in the 
highest degree improbable that Morton, so long and so vainly 
sought after, and who was, with such good reason, supposed 
to be lost when the “Vryheid”of Rotterdam went down 
with crew and passengers, should be alive and lurking in this 
country, where there was no longer any reason why he should 
not openly show himself, since the present government fa- 
vored his party in politics. When Lord Evandale reluctantly 
brought himself to communicate these doubts to the chaplain. 


34 $ 


WAVE Ft LEY NOVELS 


in order to obtain his opinion, he could only obtain a long lecture 
on demonology, in which, after quoting Delrio, and Bur- 
thoog, and De L'Ancre, on the subject of apparitions, together 
with sundry civilians and common lawyers on the nature of 
testimony, the learned gentleman expressed his definite and 
determined opinion to be, either that there had been an 
actual apparition of the deceased Henry Morton's spirit, the 
possibility of which he was, as a divine and a philosopher, 
neither fully prepared to admit nor to deny ; or else, that the 
said Henry Morton, being still in rerum natura, had appeared 
in his proper person that morning ; or, finally, that some 
strong deceptio visus, or striking similitude of person, had 
deceived the eyes of Miss Bellenden and of Thomas Halliday. 
Which of these was the most probable hypothesis, the Doctor 
declined to pronounce, but expressed himself ready to die in 
the opinion that one or other of them had occasioned that 
morning's disturbance. 

Lord Evandale soon had additional cause for distressful 
anxiety. Miss Bellenden was declared to be dangerously ill. 

“I will not leave this place," he exclaimed, “till she is 
pronounced to be in safety. I neither can nor ought to do 
so ; for, whatever may have been the immediate occasion of 
her illness, I gave the first cause for it by my unhappy solici- 
tation." 

He established himself, therefore, as a guest in the family, 
which the presence of his sister as well as of Lady Margaret 
Bellenden — who, in despite of her rheumatism, caused herself 
to be transported thither when she heard of her granddaugh- 
ter's illness — rendered a step equally natural and delicate. 
And thus he anxiously awaited until, without injury to her 
health, Edith could sustain a final explanation ere his depart- 
ure on his expedition. 

“She shall never," said the generous young man, “look 
on her engagement with me as the means of fettering her to 
a union the idea of which seems almost to unhingejier under- 
standing." 


CHAPTER XXXIX 


Ah, happy hills ! ah, pleasing shades I 
Ah, fields beloved in vain ! 

Where once my careless childhood stray’d, 

A stranger yet to pain. 

Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College. 

It is not by corporal wants and infirmities only that men of 
the most distinguished talents are levelled, during their life- 
time, with the common mass of mankind. There are periods 
of mental agitation when the firmest of mortals must be ranked 
with the weakest of his brethren ; and when, in paying the 
general tax of humanity, his distresses are even aggravated 
by feeling that he transgresses, in the indulgence of his grief, 
the rules of religion and philosophy by which he endeavors in 
general to regulate his passions and his actions. It was dur- 
ing such a paroxysm that the unfortunate Morton left Fairy 
Knowe. To know that his long-loved and still-beloved Edith, 
whose image had filled his mind for so many years, was on the 
point of marriage to his early rival, who had laid claim to her 
heart by so many services as hardly left her a title to refuse 
his addresses, bitter as the intelligence was, yet came not as an 
unexpected blow. 

During his residence abroad he had once written to Edith. 
It was to bid her farewell forever, and to conjure her to for- 
get him. He had requested her not to answer his letter, yet 
he half hoped for many a day that she might transgress his 
injunction. The letter never reached her to whom it was ad- 
dressed, and Morton, ignorant of its miscarriage, could only 
conclude himself laid aside and forgotten, according to his 
own self-denying request. All that he had heard of their 
mutual relations since his return to Scotland prepared him to 
expect that he could only look upon Miss Bellenden as the be- 
trothed bride of Lord Evan dale ; and, even if freed from the 
burden of obligation to the latter, it would still have been 
inconsistent with Morton's generosity of disposition to disturb 
their arrangements, by attempting the assertion of a claim, 
proscribed by absence, never sanctioned by the consent of 

349 


WAVE RLE Y NOVELS 


350 

friends, and barred by a thousand circumstances of difficulty. 
Why, then, did he seek the cottage which their broken for- 
tunes had now rendered the retreat of Lady Margaret Bellen- 
den and her granddaughter ? He yielded, we are under the 
necessity of acknowledging, to the impulse of an inconsistent 
wish, which many might have felt in his situation. 

Accident apprised him, while travelling towards his native 
district, that the ladies, near whose mansion he must neces- 
sarily pass, were absent ; and learning that Cuddie and his 
wife acted as their principal domestics, he could not resist 
pausing at their cottage to learn, if possible, the real progress 
which Lord Evandale had made in the affections of Miss Bel- 
lenden — alas ! no longer his Edith. This rash experiment 
ended as we have related, and he parted from the house of 
Fairy Knowe conscious that he was still beloved by Edith, 
yet compelled by faith and honor to relinquish her forever. 
With what feelings he must have listened to the dialogue be- 
tween Lord Evandale and Edith, the greater part of which 
he involuntarily overheard, the reader must conceive, for we 
dare not attempt to describe them. An hundred times he 
was tempted to burst upon their interview, or to exclaim aloud 
— “ Edith, I yet live!" and as often the recollection of her 
plighted troth, and of the debt of gratitude which he owed 
Lord Evandale, to whose influence with Claverhouse he justly 
ascribed his escape from torture and from death, withheld 
him from a rashness which might indeed have involved all in 
further distress, but gave little prospect of forwarding his 
own happiness. He repressed forcibly these selfish emotions, 
though with an agony which thrilled his every nerve. 

“No, Edith !" was his internal oath, “never will I add a 
thorn to thy pillow. That which Heaven has ordained, let it 
be; and let me not add, by my selfish sorrows, one atom's 
weight to the burden thou hast to bear. I was dead to thee 
when thy resolution was adopted ; and never — never shalt 
thou know that Henry Morton still lives !" 

As he formed this resolution, diffident of his own power 
to keep it, and seeking that firmness in flight which was every 
moment shaken by his continuing within hearing of Edith's 
voice, he hastily rushed from his apartment by the little closet 
and the sashed door which led to the garden. 

But firmly as he thought his resolution was fixed, he 
could not leave the spot where the last tones of a voice so be- 
loved still vibrated on his ear, without endeavoring to avail 
himself of the opportunity which the parlor window afforded, 
to steal one last glance at the lovely speaker. It was in this at- 


OLD MORTALITY 


351 


tempt, made while Edith seemed to have her eyes unalterably 
bent upon the ground, that Morton’s presence was detected 
by her raising them suddenly. So soon as her wild scream 
made this known to the unfortunate object of a passion so 
constant, and which seemed so ill-fated, he hurried from the 
place, as if pursued by the furies. He passed Halliday in the 
garden without recognizing, or even being sensible that he 
had seen him, threw himself on his horse, and, by a sort of 
instinct rather than recollection, took the first by-road in 
preference to the public route to Hamilton. 

In all probability this prevented Lord Evandale from 
learning that he was actually in existence ; for the news that 
the Highlanders had obtained a decisive victory at Killie- 
crankie had occasioned an accurate lookout to be kept, by 
order of the government, on all the passes, for fear of some 
commotion among the Lowland Jacobites. They did not 
omit to post sentinels on Bothwell Bridge, and as these men 
had not seen any traveller pass westward in that direction, 
and as, besides, their comrades stationed in the village of 
Bothwell were equally positive that none had gone eastward, 
the apparition, in the existence of which Edith and Halliday 
were equally positive, became yet more mysterious in the 
judgment of Lord Evandale, who was finally inclined to settle 
in the belief that the heated and disturbed imagination of Edith 
had summoned up the phantom she stated herself to have 
seen, and that Halliday had in some unaccountable manner 
been infected by the same superstition. 

Meanwhile, the by-path which Morton pursued, with all 
the speed which his vigorous horse could exert, brought him 
in a very few seconds to the brink of the Clyde, at a spot 
marked with the feet of horses, who were conducted to it as a 
watering-place. The steed, urged as he was to the gallop, 
did not pause a single instant, but, throwing himself into the 
river, was soon beyond his depth. The plunge which the 
animal made as his feet quitted the ground, with the feeling 
that the cold water rose above his sword-belt, were the first 
incidents which recalled Morton, whose movements had been 
hitherto mechanical, to the necessity of taking measures for 
preserving himself and the noble animal which he bestrode. 
A perfect master of all manly exercises, the management of a 
horse in water was as familiar to him as when upon a meadow. 
He directed the animal’s course somewhat down the stream 
towards a low plain or holm, which seemed to promise an easy 
egress from the river. In the first and second attempt to get 
on shore, the horse was frustrated by the nature of the ground. 


852 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


and nearly fell backwards on his rider. The instinct of self- 
preservation seldom fails, even in the most desperate circum- 
stances, to recall the human mind to some degree of equipoise, 
unless when altogether distracted by terror, and Morton was 
obliged to the danger in which he was placed for complete re- 
covery of his self-possession. A third attempt, at a spot more 
carefully and judiciously selected, succeeded better than the 
former, and placed the horse and his rider in safety upon the 
further and left-hand bank of the Clyde. 

“But whither,” said Morton, in the bitterness of his heart, 
“ am I now to direct my course ? or rather, w r hat does it sig- 
nify to which point of the compass a wretch so forlorn betakes 
himself ? I would to God, could the wish be without a sin, 
that these dark waters had flowed over me, and drowned my 
recollection of that which was and that which is ! 99 

The sense of impatience which the disturbed state of his 
feelings had occasioned scarcely had vented itself in these vio- 
lent expressions ere he was struck with shame at having given 
way to such a paroxysm. He remembered how signally the 
life which he now held so lightly, in the bitterness of his dis- 
appointment, had been preserved through the almost incessant 
perils which had beset him since he entered upon his public 
career. 

“ I am a fool ! ” he said, “ and worse than a fool, to set light 
by that existence which Heaven has so often preserved in the 
most marvellous manner. Something there yet remains for me 
in this world, were it only to bear my sorrows like a man, and 
to aid those who need my assistance. What have I seen — 
what have I heard, but the very conclusion of that which I 
knew was to happen ? They [he durst not utter their names 
even in soliloquy] — they are embarrassed and in difficulties. 
She is stripped of her inheritance, and he seems rushing on 
some dangerous career, with which, but for the low voice in 
which he spoke, I might have become acquainted. Are there 
no means to aid or to warn them ?” 

As he pondered upon this topic, forcibly withdrawing his 
mind from his own disappointment and compelling his attention 
to the affairs of Edith and her betrothed husband, the letter of 
Burley, long forgotten, suddenly rushed on his memory like a 
ray of light darting through a mist. 

“ Their ruin must have been his work,” was his internal 
conclusion. “If it can be repaired, it must be through his 
mean s, or by information obtained from him. I will search him 
out. Stern, crafty, and enthusiastic as he is, my plain and 
downright rectitude of purpose has more than once prevailed 


OLD MORTALITY 


853 


with him. I will seek him out, at least ; and who knows what 
influence the information I may acquire from him may have on 
the fortunes of those whom I shall never see more, and who 
will probably never learn that I am now suppressing my own 
grief to add, if possible, to their happiness 

Animated by these hopes, though the foundation was but 
slight, he sought the nearest way to the high-road ; and as all 
the tracks through the valley were known to him since he 
hunted through them in youth, he had no other difficulty than 
that of surmounting one or two enclosures ere he found him- 
self on the road to the small burgh where the feast of the pop- 
injay had been celebrated. He journeyed in a state of mind 
sad indeed and dejected, yet relieved from its earlier and more 
intolerable state of anguish ; for virtuous resolution and manly 
disinterestedness seldom fail to restore tranquillity even where 
they cannot create happiness. He turned his thoughts with 
strong effort upon the means of discovering Burley, and the 
chance there was of extracting from him any knowledge which 
he might possess favorable to her in whose cause he interested 
himself, and at length formed the resolution of guiding him- 
self by the circumstances in which he might discover the object 
of his quest, trusting that, from Cuddie’s account of a schism 
betwixt Burley and his brethren of the Presbyterian persua- 
sion, he might find him less rancorously disposed against Miss 
Bellenden, and inclined to exert the power which he asserted 
himself to possess over her fortunes more favorably than here- 
tofore. 

Noontide had passed away when our traveller found him- 
self in the neighborhood of his deceased uncle’s habitation 
of Milnwood. It rose among glades and groves that were 
checkered with a thousand early recollections of joy and sor- 
row, and made upon Morton that mournful impression, soft 
and affecting, yet withal soothing, which the sensitive mind 
usually receives from a return to the haunts of childhood and 
early youth, after having experienced the vicissitudes and tem- 
pests of public life. A strong desire came upon him to visit 
the house itself. 

“ Old Alison,” he thought, “ will not know me, more than 
the honest couple whom I saw yesterday. I may indulge my 
curiosity and proceed on my journey, without her having any 
knowledge of my existence. I think they said my uncle had 
bequeathed to her my family mansion ; well, be it so. I have 
enough to sorrow for, to enable me to dispense with lamenting 
such a disappointment as that ; and yet methinks he has chosen 
an odd successor in my grumbling old dame to a line of re- 


354 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


spectable, if not distinguished, ancestry. Let it be as it may, 
I will visit the old mansion at least once more.” 

The house of Milnwood, even in its best days, had nothing 
cheerful about it, but its gloom appeared to be double under 
the auspices of the old housekeeper. Everything, indeed, was 
in repair ; there were no slates deficient upon the steep gray 
roof, and no panes broken in the narrow windows. But the 
grass in the courtyard looked as if the foot of man had not 
been there for years ; the doors were carefully locked, and 
that which admitted to the hall seemed to have been shut for 
a length of time, since the spiders had fairly drawn their webs 
over the doorway and the staples. Living sight or sound there 
was none, until, after much knocking, Morton heard the little 
window, through which it was usual to reconnoitre visitors, 
open with much caution. The face of Alison, puckered with 
some score of wrinkles, in addition to those with which it was 
furrowed whenMorton left Scotland, now presented itself, en- 
veloped in a “toy,” from under the protection of which some 
of her gray tresses had escaped in a manner more picturesque 
than beautiful, while her shrill tremulous voice demanded the 
cause of the knocking. 

“I wish to speak an instant with one Alison Wilson who 
resides here,” said Henry. 

“ She’s no at hame the day,” answered Mrs. Wilson in pro- 
pria persona , the state of whose head-dress, perhaps, inspired 
her with this direct mode of denying herself; “and ye are 
but a mislear’d person to speer for her in sic a manner. Ye 
might hae had an M under your belt for Mistress Wilson of 
Milnwood.” 

“I beg pardon,” said Morton, internally smiling at find- 
ing in old Ailie the same jealousy of disrespect which she used 
to exhibit upon former occasions — “ I beg pardon ; I am but 
a stranger in this country, and have been so long abroad that 
I have almost forgotten my own language.” 

“Didye come frae foreign parts?” said Ailie; “then 
maybe ye may hae heard of a young gentleman of this country 
that they ca’ Henry Morton ? ” 

“ I have heard,” said Morton, “ of such a name in Ger- 
many.” 

“Then bide a wee bit where ye are, friend — or stay, gang 
round by the back o’ the house, and ye’ll find a laigli door ; 
it’s on the latch ; for it’s never barred till sunset. Ye’ll 
open’t — and tak care ye dinna fa’ower the tub, for the entry’s 
dark — and then ye’ll turn to the right, and then ye’ll liaud 
straught forward, and then ye’ll turn to the right again, and 


OLD MORTALITY 


855 


ye’ll tak heed o’ the cellar stairs, and then ye’ll be at the 
door o’ the little kitchen — it’s a’ the kitchen that’s at Miln- 
wood now — and I’ll come down t’ye, and whate’er ye wad say 
to Mistress Wilson ye may very safely tell it to me.” 

A stranger might have had some difficulty, notwithstand- 
ing the minuteness of the directions supplied by Ailie, to pilot 
himself in safety through the dark labyrinth of passages that 
led from the back door to the little kitchen, but Henry was 
too well acquainted with the navigation of these straits to 
experience danger, either from the Scylla which lurked on 
one side in shape of a bucking-tub, or the Charybdis which 
yawned on the other in the profundity of a winding cellar 
stair. His only impediment arose from the snarling and ve- 
hement barking of a small cocking spaniel, once his own 
property, but which, unlike to the faithful Argus, saw his 
master return from his wanderings without any symptom of 
recognition. 

“The little dogs and all! ’’said Morton to himself, on 
being disowned by his former favorite. “I am so changed 
that no breathing creature that I have known and loved will 
now acknowledge me !” 

At this moment he had reached the kitchen, and soon 
after the tread of Alison’s high heels, and the pat of the 
crutch-handled cane, which served at once to prop and to 
guide her footsteps, were heard upon the stairs, an annuncia- 
tion which continued for some time ere she fairly reached the 
kitchen. 

Morton had, therefore, time to survey the slender prep- 
arations for housekeeping which were now sufficient in the 
house of his ancestors. The fire, though coals are plenty in 
that neighborhood, was husbanded with the closest attention 
to economy of fuel, and the small pipkin, in which w T as pre- 
paring the dinner of the old woman and her maid-of-all-work, 
a girl of twelve years old, intimated, by its thin and watery 
vapor, that Ailie had not mended her cheer with her improved 
fortune. 

When she entered, the head which nodded with self-impor- 
tance, the features in which an irritable peevishness, acquired 
by habit and indulgence, strove with a temper naturally affec- 
tionate and srood-natured, the coif, the apron, the blue checked 
gown, werelill those of old Ailie ; but laced pinners, hastily 
put on to meet the stranger, with some other trifling articles 
of decoration, marked the difference between Mrs. Wilson, 
life-rentrix of Milnwood; and the housekeeper of the late pro- 
prietor. 


856 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


“ What were ye pleased to want wi' Mrs. Wilson, sir ? I 
am Mrs. Wilson,” was her first address ; for the five minutes' 
time which she had gained for the business of the toilet en- 
titled her, she conceived, to assume the full merit of her illus- 
trious name, and shine forth on her guest in unchastened 
splendor. 

Morton's sensations, confounded between the past and pres- 
ent, fairly confused him so much that he would have had 
difficulty in answering her, even if he had known well what 
to say. But as he had not determined what character he was 
to adopt while concealing that which was properly his own, 
he had an additional reason for remaining silent. 

Mrs. Wilson, in perplexity, and with some apprehension, 
repeated her question. “ What were ye pleased to want wi' 
me, sir ? Ye said ye kenn'd Mr. Harry Morton ?” 

“ Pardon me, madam,” answered Henry ; “it was of one 
Silas Morton I spoke.” 

The old woman's countenance fell. 

“ It was his father, then, ye kent o', the brother o' the late 
Milnwood ? Ye canna mind him abroad, I wad think ; he 
was come hame afore ye were born. I thought ye had brought 
me news of poor Maister Harry.” 

“ It was from my father I learned to know Colonel Mor- 
ton,” said Henry. “Of the son I know little or nothing; 
rumor says he died abroad on his passage to Holland.” 

“ That's ower like to be true,” said the old woman, with a 
sigh, “ and mony a tear it's cost my auld een. His uncle, poor 
gentleman, just sough'd awa' wi' it in his mouth. He had been 
gieing me preceeze directions anent the bread, and the wine, 
and the brandy, at his burial, and how often it was to be 
handed round the company — for, dead or alive, he was a pru- 
dent, frugal, painstaking man — and then he said, said he, 

‘ Ailie ' — he aye ca'd me Ailie, we were auld acquaintance — 

‘ Ailie, take ye care and baud the gear weel thegither ; for 
the name of Morton of Milnwood's gane out like the last 
sough of an auld sang.' And sae he fell out o' ae dwam into 
another, and ne'er spak a word mair unless it were something 
we cou'dna mak out, about a dipped candle being gude 
eneugh to see to dee wi'. He cou'd ne'er bide to see a moulded 
ane, and there was ane, by ill luck, on the table.” 

While Mrs. Wilson was thus detailing the last moments of 
the old miser, Morton was pressingly engaged in diverting the 
assiduous curiosity of the dog, which, recovered from his first 
surprise, and combining former recollections, had, after much 
snuffing and examination, begun a course of capering and 


OLD MORTALITY 


35 ? 


Jumping upon the stranger which threatened every instant to 
betray him. At length, in the urgency of his impatience, 
Morton could not forbear exclaiming, in a tone of hasty im- 
patience, “ Down, Elpliin ! Down, sir !” 

“ Ye ken our dog’s name,” said the old lady, struck with 
great and sudden surprise — “ ye ken our dog’s name, and it’s 
no a common ane. And the creature kens you too,” she con- 
tinued, in a more agitated and shriller tone. “ God guide us ! 
it’s my ain bairn ! ” So saying, the poor old woman threw her- 
self around Morton’s neck, clung to him, kissed him as if he 
had been actually her child, and wept for joy. 

There was no parrying the discovery, if he could have had 
the heart to attempt any further disguise. He returned the 
embrace with the most grateful warmth, and answered — “I 
do indeed live, dear Ailie, to thank you for all your kindness, 
past and present, and to rejoice that there is at least one friend 
to welcome me to my native country.” 

“ Friends!” exclaimed Ailie, “ye’ll hae mony friends — 
ye’ll hae mony friends ; for ye will hae gear, hinny — ye will 
hae gear. Heaven mak ye a gude guide o’t ! But, eh, sirs !” 
she continued, pushing him back from her with her trembling 
hand and shrivelled arm, and gazing in his face as if to read, 
at more convenient distance, the ravages which sorrow rather 
than time had made on his face — “eh, sirs ! ye’re cair altered, 
hinny : your face is turned pale, and your een are sunken, 
and your bonny red-and-white cheeks are turned a’ dark and 
sunburnt. 0, weary on the wars ! mony’s the comely face 
they destroy. And when cam ye here, hinny ? And where 
hae" ye been ? And what hae ye been doing ? And what for 
did ye na write to us ? And how cam ye to pass yoursell for 
dead ? And what for did ye come creepin’ to your ain house 
as if ye had been an unco body, to gie poor auld Ailie sic a 
start ?” she concluded, smiling through her tears. 

It was some time ere Morton could overcome his own emo- 
tion so as to give the kind old woman the information which 
we shall communicate to our readers in the next chapter. 


CHAPTER XL 


Au merle that was. 

But that is gone for being Richard’s friend ; 

And, madam, you must call him Rutland now. 

Richard II. 

The scene of explanation was hastily removed from the little 
kitchen to Mrs. Wilson's own matted room, the very same 
which she had occupied as housekeeper, and which she con- 
tinued to retain. “ It was," she said, “ better secured against 
sifting winds than the hall, which she had found dangerous 
to her rheumatisms, and it was more fitting for her use than 
the late Miln wood's apartment, honest man, which gave her 
sad thoughts ; " and as for the great oak parlor, it was never 
opened but to be aired, washed, and dusted, according to the 
invariable practice of the family, unless upon their most sol- 
emn festivals. In the matted room, therefore, they were set- 
tled, surrounded by pickle-pots and conserves of all kinds, 
which the ci-devant housekeeper continued to compound out 
of mere habit, although neither she herself nor any one else 
ever partook of the comfits which she so regularly prepared. 

Morton, adapting his narrative to the comprehension of 
his auditor, informed her briefly of the wreck of the vessel 
and the loss of all hands, excepting two or three common sea- 
men, who had early secured the skiff, and were just putting 
off from the vessel when he leaped from the deck into their 
boat, and unexpectedly, as well as contrary to their inclina- 
tion, made himself partner of their voyage and of their safety. 
Landed at Flushing, he was fortunate enough to meet with 
an old officer who had been in service with his father. By his 
advice, he shunned going immediately to The Hague, but for- 
warded his letters to the court of the Stadtholder. 

“ Our Prince," said the veteran, “must as yet keep terms 
with his father-in-law and with your King Charles ; and to 
approach him in the character of a Scottish malcontent would 
render it imprudent for him to distinguish you by his favor. 
Wait, therefore, his orders, without forcing yourself on his 
notice ; observe the strictest prudence and retirement ; assume 
for the present a different name ; shun the company of the 


OLD MORTALITY 


359 


British exiles ; and, depend upon it, yon will not repent yonr 
prudence.” 

The old friend of Silas Morton argued justly. After a 
considerable time had elapsed, the Prince of Orange, in a 
progress through the United States, came to the town where 
Morton, impatient at his situation and the incognito which 
he was obliged to observe, still continued, nevertheless, to be 
a resident. lie had an hour of private interview assigned, 
in which the Prince expressed himself highly pleased with 
his intelligence, his prudence, and the liberal view which he 
seemed to take of the factions of his native country, their 
motives and their purposes. 

“1 would gladly,” said William, “attach you to my own 
person, but that cannot be without giving offence in England. 
But I will do as much for you, as well out of respect for the 
sentiments you have expressed as for the recommendations 
you have brought me. Here is a commission in a Swiss regi- 
ment at present in garrison in a distant province, where you 
will meet few or none of your countrymen. Continue to be 
Captain Melville, and let the name of Morton sleep till better 
days.” 

“ Thus began my fortune,” continued Morton ; “ and my 
services have, on various occasions, been distinguished by 
his Royal Highness, until the moment that brought him to 
Britain as our political deliverer. His commands must ex- 
cuse my silence to my few friends in Scotland ; and I w T onder 
not at the report of my death, considering the wreck of the 
vessel, and that I found no occasion to use the letters of ex- 
change with which I was furnished by the liberality of some 
of them, a circumstance which must have confirmed the be- 
lief that I had perished.” 

“But, dear hinny,” asked Mrs. Wilson, “did ye find nae 
Scotch body at the Prince of Oranger’s court that kemffd ye? 
I wad hae thought Morton o' Milnwood was kenned a* through 
the country.” 

“ I was purposely engaged in distant service,” said Morton, 
“ until a period when few, without as deep and kind a motive 
of interest as yours, Ailie, would have known the stripling 
Morton in Major-General Melville.” 

“ Malville was your mother’s name,” said Mrs. Wilson ; 
“but Morton sounds far bonnier in my auld lugs. And when 
ye tak up the lairdship ye maun tak the auld name and desig- 
nation again.” 

“ I am like to be in no haste to do either the one or the 
other, Ailie, for I have some reasons for the present to con- 


360 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


ceal my being alive from every one but you ; and as for the 
lairdship of Milnwood, it is in as good hands. ” 

“ As gude hands, hinny ! ” re-echoed Ailie ; “ Fm hopefu’ 
ye are no meaning mine ? The rents and the lands are but a 
sair fash to me. And Fm ower failed to tak a helpmate, 
though Wylie Mactrickit, the writer, was very pressing, and 
spak very civilly ; but Fm ower auld a cat to draw that strae 
before me. He canna whilly-wha me as he’s dune mony a ane. 
And then I thought aye ye wad come back, and I wad get my 
pickle meal and my soup milk, and keep a’ things right about 
ye as I used to do in your puir uncle’s time, and it wad be just 
pleasure eneugh for me to see ye thrive and guide the gear 
canny. Ye’ll hae learned that in Holland, I’se warrant, for 
they’re thrifty folk there, as I hear tell. But ye’ll be for 
keeping rather a mair house than puir auld Milnwood that’s 
gane ; and, indeed, I would approve o’ your eating butcher- 
meat maybe as aften as three times a week, it keeps the wind 
out o’ the stamack.” 

“ We will talk of all this another time,” said Morton, sur- 
prised at the generosity upon a large scale which mingled in 
Ailie’s thoughts and actions with habitual and sordid parsi- 
mony, and at the odd contrast between her love of saving and 
indifference to self-acquisition. “You must know,” he con- 
tinued, “that I am in this country only for a few days on 
some special business of importance to the government, and 
therefore, Ailie, not a word of having seen me. At some other 
time I will acquaint you fully with my motives and inten- 
tions.” 

“E’en be it sae, my jo,” replied Ailie, “I can keep a 
secret like my neighbors ; and weel auld Milnwood kenn’d it, 
honest man, for he tauld me where he keepit his gear, and 
that’s what maist folk like to hae as private as possibly may 
be. But come awa’ wi’ me, hinny, till I show ye the oak 
parlor how grandly it’s keepit, just as if ye had been expected 
hame every day ; I loot naebody sort it but my ain hands. 
It was a kind o’ divertisement to me, though whiles the tear 
wan into my ee, and I said to mysell, what needs I fash wi’ 
grates, and carpets, and cushions, and themuckle brass candle- 
sticks, ony mair ? for they’ll ne’er come hame that aught it 
rightfully.” 

With these words she hauled him away to this sanctum 
sanctorum , the scrubbing and cleaning whereof was her daily 
employment, as its high state of good order constituted the 
very pride of her heart. Morton, as he followed her into the 
room, underwent a rebuke for not “dighting his shune/' 


OLD MORTALITY 


m 


which showed that Ailie had not relinquished her habits of 
authority. On entering the oak parlor, he could not but rec- 
ollect the feelings of solemn awe with which, when a boy, 
he had been affected at his occasional and rare admission to 
an apartment which he then supposed had not its equal save 
in the halls of princes. It may be readily supposed that the 
worked-worsted chairs, with their short ebony legs and long 
upright backs, had lost much of their influence over his mind ; 
that the large brass andirons seemed diminished in splendor ; 
that the green worsted tapestry appeared no masterpiece of 
the Arras loom ; and that the room looked, on the whole, 
dark, gloomy, and disconsolate. Yet there were two objects, 
“the counterfeit presentment of two brothers," which, dis- 
similar as those described by Hamlet, affected his mind with 
a variet} 7 of sensations. One full-length portrait represented 
his father, in complete armor, with a countenance indicating 
his masculine and determined character ; and the other set 
forth his uncle, in velvet and brocade, looking as if he were 
ashamed of his own finery, though entirely indebted for it to 
the liberality of the painter. 

“ It was an idle fancy," Ailie said, “ to dress the honest auld 
man in thae expensive fal-lalls that he ne’er wore in his life, 
instead o’ his douce raploch gray, and his band wi’ the nar- 
row edging." 

In private Morton could not help being much of her opin- 
ion ; for anything approaching to the dress of a gentleman 
sat as ill on the ungainly person of his relative as an open or 
generous expression would have done on his mean and money- 
making features. He now extricated himself from Ailie to 
visit some of his haunts in the neighboring wood, while her 
own hands made an addition to the dinner she was preparing ; 
an incident no otherwise remarkable than as it cost the life of 
a fowl, which for any event of less importance than the arrival 
of Henry Morton might have cackled on to a good old age ere 
Ailie could have been guilty of the extravagance of killing 
and dressing it. The meal was seasoned by talk of old times, 
and by the plans which Ailie laid out for futurity, in which 
she assigned her young master all the prudential habits of her 
old one, and planned out the dexterity with which she was to 
exercise her duty as governante. Morton let the old woman 
enjoy her day-dreams and castle-building during moments of 
such pleasure, and deferred till some fitter occasion the com- 
munication of his purpose again to return and spend his life 
upon the Continent. 

His next care was to lay aside his military dress, which he 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


considered likely to render more difficult liis researches after 
Burley. He exchanged it for a gray doublet and cloak, for- 
merly his usual attire at Milnwood, and which Mrs. Wilson 
produced from a chest of walnut-tree, wherein she had laid 
them aside, without forgetting carefully to brush and air them 
from time to time. Morton retained his sword and firearms, 
without which few persons travelled in those unsettled times. 

When he appeared in his new attire, Mrs. Wilson was first 
thankful “that they fitted him sae decently, since, though 
he was nae fatter, yet he looked mair manly than when he was 
taen frae Milnwood.” Next she enlarged on the advantage of 
saving old clothes to be what she called “ beet-masters to the 
new,” and was far advanced in the history of a velvet cloak 
belonging to the late Milnwood, which had first been converted 
to a velvet doublet, and then into a pair of breeches, and ap- 
peared each time as good as new, when Morton interrupted her 
account of its transmigration to bid her good-bye. 

He gave, indeed, a sufficient shock to her feelings by ex- 
pressing the necessity he was under of proceeding on his jour- 
ney that evening. 

“ And where are ye gaun ? And what wad ye do that for ? 
And whar wad ye sleep but in your ain house, after ye hae been 
sae mony years frae hame ? ” 

“ I feel all the unkindness of it, Ailie, but it must be so ; 
and that was the reason that I attempted to conceal myself 
from you, as I suspected you would not let me part from you 
so easily.” 

“But whar are ye gaun, then ?” said Ailie, once more. 
“ Saw e’er mortal een the like o’ you, just to come ae moment 
and flee awa’ like an arrow out of a bow the neist ? ” 

“ I must go down,” replied Morton, “to Niel Blane, the 
Piper’s Howff. He can give me a bed, I suppose ?” 

“A bed ! I’se warrant can he,” replied Ailie, “and gar 
ye pay weel for’t into the bargain. Laddie, I dare say ye hae 
lost your wits in thae foreign parts, to gangand gie siller for 
a supper and a bed, and might hae baith for naething, and 
thanks t’ye for accepting them.” 

“ I assure you, Ailie,” said Morton, desirous to silence her 
remonstrances, “ that this is a business of great importance, 
in which I may be a great gainer, and cannot possibly be a 
loser.” 

“ I dinna see how that can be, if ye begin by gieing maybe 
the feck o’ twal shillings Scots for your supper ; but young 
folks are aye venturesome, and think to get siller that way. 


OLD MORTALITY 


My puir auld master took a surer gate, and never parted wi* 
it when he had anes gotten’t.” 

Persevering in his desperate resolution, Morton took leave 
of Ailie and mounted his horse to proceed to the little town, 
after exacting a solemn promise that she would conceal his re- 
turn until she again saw or heard from him. 

“ I am not very extravagant,” was his natural reflection, 
as he trotted slowly towards the town ; “ but were Ailie and 
I to set up house together, as she proposes, I think my pro- 
fusion would break the good old creature’s heart before a week 
were out.” 


CHAPTEE XLI 


Where’s the jolly host 

You told me of ? ’T has been my custom eve 

To parley with mine host. 

Lover's Progress. 

Morton reached the borough-town without meeting with any 
remarkable adventure, and alighted at the little inn. It had 
occurred to him more than once, while upon his journey, 
that his resumption of the dress which he had worn while a 
youth, although favorable to his views in other respects, 
might render it more difficult for him to remain incognito. 
But a few years of campaigns and wandering had so changed 
his appearance that he had great confidence that in the grown 
man, whose brows exhibited the traces of resolution and con- 
siderate thought, none would recognize the raw and bashful 
stripling who won the game of the popinjay. The only 
chance was, that here and there some Whig whom he had led 
to battle might remember the Captain of the Milnwood 
Marksmen ; but the risk, if there was any, could not be 
guarded against. 

The Howff seemed full and frequented as if possessed of 
all its old celebrity. The person and demeanor of Niel 
Blane, more fat and less civil than of yore, intimated that he 
had increased as well in purse as in corpulence ; for in Scot- 
land a landlord’s complaisance for his guests decreases in 
exact proportion to his rise in the world His daughter had 
acquired the air of a dexterous barmaid, undisturbed by the 
circumstances of love and war, so apt to perplex her in the 
exercise of her vocation. Both showed Morton the degree of 
attention which could have been expected by a stranger 
travelling without attendants, at a time when they were par- 
ticularly the badges of distinction. He took upon himself 
exactly the character his appearance presented — went to the 
stable and saw his horse accommodated, then returned to the 
house, and, seating himself in the public room (for to request 
one to himself would, in those days, have been thought an 
overweening degree of conceit), he found himself in the very 
apartment in which he had some years before celebrated Jiis 


OLD MORTALITY 


365 


victory at the game of the popinjay, a jocular preferment 
which led to so many serious consequences. 

He felt himself, as may well be supposed, a much changed 
man since that festivity ; and yet, to look around him, the 
groups assembled in the Howff seemed not dissimilar to those 
which the same scene had formerly presented. Two or three 
burghers husbanded their “ dribbles o’ brandy ; ” two or three 
dragoons lounged over their muddy ale, and cursed the in- 
active times that allowed them no better cheer. Their cornet 
did not, indeed, play at backgammon with the curate in his 
cassock, but he drank a little modicum of aqua mirabilis with 
the gray-cloaked Presbyterian minister. The scene was an- 
other, and yet the same, differing only in persons, but corre- 
sponding in general character. 

“ Let the tide of the world wax or wane as it will,” Morton 
thought, as he looked around him, “ enough will be found to 
fill the places which chance renders vacant ; and, in the usual 
occupations and amusements of life, human beings will suc- 
ceed each other, as leaves upon the same tree, with the same 
individual difference and the same general resemblance.” 

After pausing a few minutes, Morton, whose experience 
had taught him the readiest mode of securing attention, 
ordered a pint of claret, and, as the smiling landlord appeared 
with the pewter measure foaming fresh from the tap (for 
bottling wine was not then in fashion), he asked him to sit 
down and take a share of the good cheer. This invitation 
was peculiarly acceptable to Niel Blane, who, if he did not 
positively expect it from every guest not provided with better 
company, yet received it from many, and was not a whit 
abashed or surprised at the summons. He sat down along with 
his guest, in a secluded nook near the chimney ; and while he 
received encouragement to drink by far the greater share of 
the liquor before them, he entered at length, as a part of his 
expected functions, upon the news of the country — the births, 
deaths, and marriages, the change of property, the downfall 
of old families, and the rise of new. But politics, now the 
fertile source of eloquence, mine host did not care to mingle 
in his theme ; and it was only in answer to a question of 
Morton that he replied with an air of indifference, “ Um ! ay 
we aye hae sodgers amang us, mair or less. There’s a wheen 
German horse down at Glasgow yonder ; they ca’ their com- 
mander Wittybody, or some sic name, though he’s as grave 
and grewsome an auld Dutchman as e’er I saw.” 

“ Wittenbold, perhaps?” said Morton; “an old man, 
with gray hair and short black moustaches ; speaks seldom f 3} 


800 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


“ And smokes forever/' replied Niel Blane. “I see youi 
honor kens the man. He may be a very glide man too, for 
aught I see, that is, considering he is a sodger and a Dutch- 
man ; but if he were ten generals, and as mony Wittybodies, 
he has nae skill in the pipes ; he gar'd me stop in the middle 
or * Torphichen's Rant,' the best piece o' music that ever bag 
gae wind to." 

“But these fellows," said Morton, glancing his eye to- 
wards the soldiers that were in the apartment, “ are not of his 
corps ? " 

“Ha, na, these are Scotch dragoons," said mine host ; “ our 
ain auld caterpillars ; these were Claver'se's lads a while syne, 
and wad be again, maybe, if he had the lang ten in his hand." 

“ Is there not a report of his death ?" inquired Morton. 

“ Troth is there," said the landlord ; “ your honor is right : 
there is sic a fleeing rumor ; but, in my puir opinion, it's lang 
or the deil die. I wad hae the folks here look to themsells. 
If he makes an outbreak, he'll be doun frae the Hielands or I 
could drink this glass ; and whare are they then ? A' thae 
hell-rakers o' dragoons wad be at his whistle in a moment. 
Hae doubt they're Willie's men e'en now, as they were James's 
a while syne ; and reason good — they fight for their pay ; what 
else hae they to fight for ? They hae neither lands nor houses, 
I trow. There's ae gude thing o' the change — or the Revolu- 
tion, as they ca' it — folks may speak out afore thae birkies 
now, and nae fear o' being hauled awa' to the guard-house, or 
having the thumikins screwed on your finger-ends, just as I 
wad drive the screw through a cork." 

There was a little pause, when Morton, feeling confident 
in the progress he had made in mine host's familiarity, asked, 
though with the hesitation proper to one who puts a question 
on the answer to which rests something of importance — 
“ Whether Blane knew a woman in that neighborhood called 
Elizabeth Maclure ? " 

“ Whether I ken Bessie Maclure ? " answered the landlord, 
with a landlord's laugh. “ How can I but ken my ain wife's 
— haly be her rest ! — my ain wife's first gudeman's sister, 
Bessie Maclure ? An honest wife she is, but sair she's been 
trysted wi' misfortunes — the loss o' twa decent lads o' sons, in 
the time o' the persecution, as they ca' it nowadays ; and 
doucely and decently she has borne her burden, blaming nane 
and condemning nane. If there's an honest woman in the 
world, it's Bessie Maclure. And to lose her twa sons, as I 
was saying, and to hae dragoons clinked down on her for 
a, month by-past, for, be Whig or Tory uppermost, the^ 


OLD MORTALITY 


aye quarter thae loons on victuallers — to lose, as I was say- 
ing ” 

“ This woman keeps an inn, then ? ” interrupted Morton. 

“ A public, in a puir way,” replied Blane, looking round 
at his own superior accommodations — “a sour browst o’sma’ 
ale that she sells to folk that are ower drouthy wi' travel to be 
nice ; but naething to ca'a stirring trade or a thriving change- 
house.” 

“ Can you get me a guide there ?” said Morton. 

“ Your honor will rest here a’ the night ? ye'll hardly get 
accommodation at Bessie's,” said Niel, whose regard for his 
deceased wife's relative by no means extended to sending 
company from his own house to hers. 

“ There is a friend,” answered Morton, “whom I am to 
meet with there, and I only called here to take a stirrup-cup 
and inquire the way.” 

“ Your honor had better,” answered the landlord, with the 
perseverance of his calling, “send some ane to warn your 
friend to come on here.” 

“ I tell you, landlord,” answered Morton, impatiently, 
“ that will not serve my purpose ; I must go straight to this 
woman Maclure's house, and I desire you to find me a guide.” 

“ Aweel, sir, ye'll choose for yoursell, to be sure,” said Niel 
Blane, somewhat disconcerted ; “ but deil a guide ye'll need, 
if ye gae doun the water for twa mile or sae, as gin ye were 
bound for Milnwood House, and then tak the first broken dis- 
jasked-looking road that makes for the hills — ye'll ken't by a 
broken ash-tree that stands at the side o' a burn just where 
the roads meet — and then travel out the path ; ye canna miss 
Widow Maclure's public, for deil another house or hauldison 
the road for ten lan g Scots miles, and that's worth twenty 
English. I am sorry your honor would think o' gaun out o' 
my house the night. But my wife's gude-sister is a decent 
woman, and it's no lost that a friend gets.” 

Morton accordingly paid his reckoning and departed. The 
sunset of the summer day placed him at the ash-tree, where 
the path led up towards the moors. 

“Here,” he said to himself, “my misfortunes com- 
menced ; for just here, when Burley and I were about to sep- 
arate on the first night we ever met, he was alarmed by the 
intelligence that the passes were secured by soldiers lying in 
wait for him. Beneath that very ash sat the old woman 
who apprised him of his danger. How strange that my whole 
fortunes should have become inseparably interwoven with 
that man's, without anything more on my part than the dis* 


868 


WAVE RLE Y NOVELS 


charge of an ordinary duty of humanity ! Would to Heaven 
it were possible I could find my humble quiet and tranquillity 
of mind upon the spot where I lost them ! ” 

Thus arranging his reflections betwixt speech and thought, 
he turned his horse’s head up the path. 

Evening lowered around him as he advanced up the nar* 
row dell which had once been a wood, but was now a ravine 
divested of trees, unless where a few, from their inaccessible 
situation on the edge of precipitous banks, or clinging among 
rocks and huge stones, defied the invasion of men and of cat- 
tle, like the scattered tribes of a conquered country, driven to 
take refuge in the barren strength of its mountains. These 
too, wasted and decayed, seemed rather to exist than to flourish, 
and only served to indicate what the landscape had once been. 
But the stream brawled down among them in all its freshness 
and vivacity, giving the life and animation which a mountain 
rivulet alone can confer on the barest and most savage scenes, 
and which the inhabitants of such a country miss when gaz- 
ing even upon the tranquil winding of a majestic stream 
through plains of fertility, and beside palaces of splendor. 
The track of the road followed the course of the brook, which 
was now visible, and now only to be distinguished by its 
brawling heard among the stones, or in the clefts of the rock, 
that occasionally interrupted its course. 

“ Murmurer that thou art,” said Morton, in the enthusi- 
asm of his reverie, “ why chafe with the rocks that stop thy 
course for a moment ? There is a sea to receive thee in its 
bosom ; and there is an eternity for man when his fretful and 
hasty course through the vale of time shall be ceased and over. 
What thy petty fuming is to the deep and vast billows of a 
shoreless ocean, are our cares, hopes, fears, joys, and sorrows 
to the objects which must occupy us through the awful and 
boundless succession of ages.” 

Thus moralizing, our traveller passed on till the dell opened, 
and the banks, receding from the brook, left a little green 
vale, exhibiting a croft or small field, on which some corn was 
growing, and a cottage, whose walls were not above five feet 
high, and whose thatched roof, green with moisture, age, 
house-leek, and grass, had in some places suffered damage 
from the encroachment of two cows, whose appetite this ap- 
pearance of verdure had diverted from their more legitimate 
pasture. An ill-spelled and worse-written inscription inti- 
mated to the traveller that he might here find refreshment 
for man and horse ; no unacceptable intimation, rude as the 
hut appeared to be, considering the wild path he had trod in 


OLD MORTALITY 


369 


approaching it, and the high and waste mountains which rose 
in desolate dignity behind this humble asylum. 

“ It must indeed have been,” thought Morton, “ in some 
such spot as this that Burley was likely to find a congenial 
confidant.” 

As he approached, he observed the good dame of the house 
herself seated by the door ; she had hitherto been concealed 
from him by a huge alder-bush. 

“ Good evening, mother,” said the traveller. ‘ ‘ Your name 
is Mistress Maclure ? ” 

“Elizabeth Maclure, sir, a poor widow,” was the reply. 

“ Can you lodge a stranger for a night ?” 

“I can, sir, if he will be pleased with the widow’s cake 
and the widow’s cruise.” 

“I have been a soldier, good dame,” answered Morton, 
“and nothing can come amiss to me in the way of entertain- 
ment.” 

“ A sodger, sir ?” said the old woman, with a sigh. “ God 
send ye a better trade ! ” 

“ It is believed to be an honorable profession, my good 
dame. I hope you do not think the woFse of me for having 
belonged to it ?” 

“I judge no one, sir,” replied the woman, “and your 
voice sounds like that of a civil gentleman ; but I hae wit- 
nessed sae muckle ill wi’ sodgering in this puir land that I am 
e’en content that I can see nae mair o’t wi’ these sightless 
organs.” 

As she spoke thus, Morton observed that she was blind. 

“ Shall I not be troublesome to you, my good dame r” said 
he, compassionately ; “your infirmity seems ill calculated for 
your profession.” 

“Na, sir,” answered the old woman ; “ I can gang about 
the house readily eneugh ; and I hae a bit lassie to help me, 
and the dragoon lads will look after your horse when they come 
hame frae their patrol, for a sma’ matter ; they are civiller 
now than lang syne.” 

Upon these assurances, Morton alighted. 

“Peggy, my bonny bird,” continued the hostess, address- 
ing a little girl of twelve years old, who had by this time ap- 
peared, “tak the gentleman’s horse to the stable, and slack 
his girths, and tak aff the bridle, and shake down a lock o* 
hay before him, till the dragoons come back. Come this way, 
sir,” she continued ; “ye’ll find my house clean, though it’s a 
puir ane.” 

Morton followed her into the cottage accordingly. 


CHAPTER XLII 


Then out and spake the auld mother, 

And fast her tears did fa — 

“Ye wadna be warn’d, my son Johnie, 

Frae the hunting to bide awa ! ” 

. Old Ballad. 

When - he entered the cottage, Morton perceived that the old 
hostess had spoken truth. The inside of the hnt belied its 
outward appearance, and was neat, and even comfortable, es- 
pecially the inner apartment, in which the hostess informed 
her guest that he was to sup and sleep. Refreshments were 

E laced before him, such as the little inn afforded ; and, though 
e had small occasion for them, he accepted the offer, as the 
means of maintaining some discourse with the landlady. Not- 
withstanding her blindness, she was assiduous in her attend- 
ance, and seemed, by a sort of instinct, to find her way to 
what she wanted. 

“ Have you no one but this pretty little girl to assist you in 
waiting on your guests ? ” was the natural question. 

“ None, sir/’ replied his old hostess ; “ I dwell alone, like 
the widow of Zarephath. Few guests come to this puir place ; 
and I haena custom eneugh to hire servants. I had anes twa 
fine sons that lookit after affhing. But God gives and takes 
away. His name be praised!” she continued, turning her 
clouded eyes towards Heaven. “ I was anes better off, that is, 
warldly speaking, even since I lost them ; but that was before 
this last change.” 

“ Indeed ! ” said Morton, “ and yet you are a Presbyterian, 
my good mother ? ” 

“ I am, sir, praised be the light that showed me the right 
way,” replied the landlady. 

“ Then I should have thought,” continued the guest, “ the 
Revolution would have brought you nothing but good.” 

“If,” said the old woman, “ it has brought the land gude, 
and freedom of worship to tender consciences, it's little matter 
what it has brought to a puir blind worm like me.” 

“ Still,” replied Morton, “ I cannot see how it could pos- 
sibly injure you.” 


870 


OLD MORTALITY 


371 


“ It's a lang story, sir,” answered his hostess, with a sigh. 
“ But ae night, sax weeks or thereby afore Both well Brig, a 
young gentleman stopped at this puir cottage, stiff and bloody 
with wounds, pale and dune out wi' riding, and his horse sae 
weary he couldna drag ae foot after the other, and his foes 
were close ahint him, and he was ane o' our enemies. What 
could I do, sir ? You that's a sodger will think me but a silly 
auld wife ; but I fed him and relieved him, and keepit him 
hidden till the pursuit was ower.” 

“ And who,” said Morton, “ dares disapprove of your hav- 
ing done so ? ” 

“ I kenna,” answered the blind woman ; “ I gat ill-will 
about it amang some o' our ain folk. They said I should hae 
been to him what Jael was to Sisera. But weel I wot I had 
nae divine command to shed blood, and to save it was baith 
like a woman and a Christian. And then they said I wanted 
natural affection, to relieve ane that belanged to the band 
that murdered my twa sons.” 

“ That murdered your two sons ?” 

“Ay, sir; though maybe ye'll gie their deaths another 
name. The tane fell wi' sword in hand, fighting for a broken 
National Covenant ; the tother — 0, they took him and shot 
him dead on the green before his mother's face ! My auld een 
dazzled when the shots were looten off, and, to my thought, 
they waxed weaker and weaker ever since that weary day ; 
and sorrow, and heartbreak, and tears that would not be dried 
might help on the disorder. But, alas ! betraying Lord Evan - 
dale's young blood to his enemies' sword wad ne'er hae brought 
my Ninian and Johnie alive again.” 

“ Lord Evandale ! ” said Morton, in surprise. “Was it 
Lord Evandale whose life you saved ?” 

“In troth, even his,” she replied. “And kind he was 
to me after, and gae me a cow and calf, malt, meal, and 
siller, and nane durst steer me when he was in power. But 
we live on an outside bit of Tillietudlem land, and the estate 
was sair plea'd between Leddy Margaret Bellenden and the 
present Laird, Basil Olifant, and Lord Evandale backed the 
auld leddy for love o' her daughter Miss Edith, as the coun- 
try said, ane o' the best and bonniest lasses in Scotland. But 
they behuved to gie way, and Basil gat the Castle and land, 
and on the back o' that came the Bevolution, and wha to 
turn coat faster than the Laird ? for he said he had been a 
true Whig a' the time, and turned Papist only for fashion's 
sake. And then he got favor, and Lord Evandale's head 
was under water ; for he was ower proud aud maul u" tp bead 


372 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


to every blast o' wind, though mony a ane may ken as weel 
as me that, be his ain principles as they might, he was nae 
ill friend to onr folk when he could protect ns, and far kinder 
than Basil Olifant, that aye keepit the cobble head doun the 
stream. But he was set by and ill looked on, and his word ne'er 
asked ; and then Basil, wha's a revengefu' man, set himsell 
to vex him in a' shapes, and especially by oppressing and de- 
spoiling the auld blind widow, Bessie Maclure, that saveG 
Lord Evandale's life, and that he was sae kind to. But he's 
mistaen, if that's his end ; for it will be lang or Lord Evan- 
dale hears a word frae me about the selling my kye for rent 
or e'er it was due, or the putting the dragoons on me when 
the country's quiet, or onything else that will vex him ; I can 
bear my ain burden patiently, and warld's loss is the least 
part o't." 

Astonished and interested at this picture of patient, 
grateful, and high-minded resignation, Morton could not 
help bestowing an execration upon the poor-spirited rascal 
who had taken such a dastardly course of vengeance. 

“ Dinna curse him, sir," said the old woman ; “ I have 
heard a good man say that a curse was like a stone flung up to 
the heavens, and maist like to return on the head that sent it. 
But if ye ken Lord Evandale, bid him look to himsell, for I 
hear strange words pass atween the sodgers that are lying here, 
and his name is often mentioned ; and the tane o' them has 
been twice up at Tillietudlem. He's a kind of favorite wi' 
the Laird, though he was in former times ane o' the maist 
cruel oppressors ever rade through a country — out- taken 
Sergeant Both well — they ca' him Inglis. " * 

“I have the deepest interest in Lord Evandale's safety," 
said Morton, “and you may depend on my finding some 
mode to apprise him of these suspicious circumstances. And 
in return, my good friend, will you indulge me with another 
question ? Do you know anything of Quintin Mackell of 
Irongray ? " 

“ Do I know whom ? " echoed the blind woman, in a tone 
of great surprise and alarm. 

“ Quintin Mackell of Irongray," repeated Morton ; “is 
there anything so alarming in the sound of that name ? " 

“ Na, na," answered the woman, with hesitation, “but to 
hear him asked after by a stranger and a sodger — Gude pro- 
tect us, what mischief is to come next ! " 

“None by my means, I assure you," said Morton ; “the 
subject of my inquiry has nothing to fear from me, if, as I 

* gee Note 36, 


OLD MORTALITY 


373 


suppose, this Quintin Mackell is the same with John 
Bal ” 

“Do not mention his name,” said the widow, pressing his 
lips with her fingers. “I see you have his secret and his 
password, and I'll he free wi' you. But, for God's sake, speak 
lound and low. In the name of Heaven, I trust ye seek him 
not to his hurt ! Ye said ye were a sodger P '' 

“ I said truly ; but one he has nothing to fear from. I 
commanded a party at Bothwell Bridge.” 

“Indeed ! ” said the woman. “And verily there is some- 
thing in your voice I can trust. Ye speak prompt and readily, 
and like an honest man.” 

“ I trust I am so,” said Morton. 

“ But nae displeasure to you, sir, in thae waefu' time^,” 
continued Mrs. Maclure, “the hand of brother is against 
brother, and he fears as mickle almaist frae this government 
as e'er he did frae the auld persecutors.” 

“ Indeed ?” said Morton, in a tone of inquiry ; “ I was not 
aware of that. But I am only just now returned from 
abroad.” 

“ I'll tell ye,” said the blind woman, first assuming an at- 
titude of listening that showed how effectually her powers of 
collecting intelligence had been transferred from the eye to 
the ear ; for, instead of casting a glance of circumspection 
around, she stooped her face, and turned her head slowly 
around, in such a manner as to insure that there was not the 
slightest sound stirring in the neighborhood, and then con- 
tinued — “ I'll tell ye. Ye ken how he has labored to raise up 
again the Covenant, burned, broken, and buried in the hard 
hearts and selfish devices of this stubborn people. Now, 
when he went to Holland, far from the countenance and 
thanks of the great, and the comfortable fellowship of the 
godly, both whilk he was in right to expect, the Prince of 
Orange wad show him no favor, and the ministers no godly 
communion. This was hard to bide for ane that had suffered 
and done mickle — ower mickle, it may be — but why suld I be 
a judge ? He came back to me and to the auld place o' refuge 
that had often received him in his distresses, mair especially 
before the great day of victory at Drumclog, for I sail ne'er 
forget how he was bending hither of a' nights in the year on 
that e'ening after the play, when young Milnwood wan the 
popinjay ; but I warned him off for that time.” 

“What!” exclaimed Morton, “it was you that sat in 
your red cloak by the high-road and told him there was a lioii 


874 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


“ In the name of Heaven ! wha are ye ? ” said the old 
woman, breaking off her narrative in astonishment. ‘ f But be 
wha ye may,” she continued, resuming it with tranquillity, 
“ ye can ken naething waur o’ me than that I hae been willing 
to save the life o’ friend and foe.” 

“1 know no ill of you, Mrs. Maclure, and I mean no ill 
by you ; I only wished to show you that I know so much of 
this person’s affairs, that I might be safely intrusted with the 
rest. Proceed, if you please, in your narrative.” 

“ There is a strange command in your voice,” said the 
blind woman, “ though its tones are sweet. I have little 
mair to say. The Stewarts hae been dethroned, and William 
and Mary reign in their stead, but nae mair word of the 
Covenant than if it were a dead letter. They hae taen the 
Indulged clergy, and an Erast ian General Assembly of the 
ance pure and triumphant Kirk of Scotland even into their 
very arms and bosoms. Our faitlifu’ champions o’ the testi- 
mony agree e’en waur wi’ this than wi’ the open tyranny and 
apostasy of the persecuting times, for souls are hardened and 
deadened, and the mouths of fasting multitudes are crammed 
wi’ fizzenless bran instead of the sweet word in season ; and 
mony an hungry, starving creature, when he sits down on a 
Sunday forenoon to get something that might warm him to 
the great work, has a dry clatter o’ morality driven about his 
lugs, and ” 

“In short,” said Morton desirous to stop a discussion 
which the good old woman, as enthusiastically attached to her 
religious profession as to the duties of humanity, might prob- 
ably have indulged longer — “ in short, you are not disposed 
to acquiesce in this new government, and Burley is of the same 
opinion ?” 

“ Many of our brethren, sir, are of belief we fought for the 
Covenant, and fasted, and prayed, and suffered for that grand 
national league, and now we are like neither to see nor hear 
tell of that which we suffered, and fought, and fasted, and 
prayed for. And anes it was thought something might be 
made by bringing back the auld family on a new bargain and 
a new bottom, as, after a’, when King James went awa’, I un- 
derstand the great quarrel of the English against him was in 
behalf of seven unhallowed prelates ; and sae, though ae part 
of our people were free to join wi’ the present model, and 
levied an armed regiment under the Yerl of Angus, yet our 
honest friend, and others that stude up for purity of doctrine 
and freedom of conscience, were determined to hear the breath 
q’ the Jacobites before they took part again them, fearing 


OLD MORTALITY 


875 


to fa* to the ground like a wall built with unslaked mortar, 
or from sitting between twa stools.” 

“ They chose an odd quarter,” said Morton, “ from which 
to expect freedom of conscience and purity of doctrine.” 

“ 0, dear sir ! ” said the landlady, “ the natural dayspring 
rises in the east, but the spiritual dayspring may rise in the 
north, for what we blinded mortals ken.” 

“ And Burley went to the north to seek it ? ” replied the 
guest. 

“ Truly ay, sir ; and he saw Claver'se himsell, that they 
ca' Dundee now.” 

“ What ! ” exclaimed Morton, in amazement ; “ I would 
have sworn that meeting would have been the last of one of 
their lives.” 

“ Na, na, sir ; in troubled times, as I understand,” said 
Mrs. Maclure, “there's sudden changes — Montgomery, and 
Ferguson, and mony ane mair that were King James's great- 
est faes, are on his side now ; Claver'se spake our friend fair, 
and sent him to consult with Lord Evandale. But then there 
was a break-off, for Lord Evandale wadna look at, hear, or 
speak wi' him ; and now he's anes wud and aye waur, and 
roars for revenge again Lord Evandale, and will hear naught 
of onything but burn and slay ; and 0 thae starts o' passion ! 
they unsettle his mind, and gie the Enemy sair advantages.” 

“ The enemy ?” said Morton. “ What enemy ?” 

“ What enemy ? Are ye acquainted familiarly wi' John 
Balfour o' Burley, and dinna ken that he has had sair and fre- 
quent combats to sustain against the Evil One ? Did ye ever 
see him alone but the Bible was in his hand and the drawn 
sword on his knee ? Did ye never sleep in the same room wi' 
him, and hear him strive in his dreams with the delusions of 
Satan ? 0, ye ken little o' him, if ye have seen him only in 

fair daylight, for nae man can put the face upon his doleful 
visits and strifes that he can do. I hae seen him, after sic a 
strife of agony, tremble, that an infant might hae held him, 
while the hair on his brow was drapping as fast as ever my 
puir thatched roof did in a heavy rain.” 

As she spoke, Morton began to recollect the appearance 
of Burley during his sleep in the hay-loft at Milnwood, the 
report of Cuddie that his senses had become impaired, and 
some whispers current among the Cameronians, who boasted 
frequently of Burley's soul-exercises, and his strifes with the 
foul fiend ; which several circumstances led him to conclude 
that this man himself was a victim to those delusions, though 
his mind, naturally acute and forcible, not only disguised his 


370 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


superstition from those in whose opinion it might have dis- 
credited his judgment, but by exerting such a force as is said 
to be proper to those afflicted with epilepsy, could postpone 
the fits which it occasioned until he was either freed from super- 
intendence or surrounded by such as held him more highly on 
account of these visitations. It was natural to suppose, and 
could easily be inferred from the narrative of Mrs. Maclure, 
that disappointed ambition, wrecked hopes, and the downfall 
of the party which he had served with such desperate fidelity, 
were likely to aggravate enthusiasm into temporary insanity. 
It was, indeed, no uncommon circumstance in those singular 
times, that men like Sir Harry Vane, Harrison, Overton, and 
others, themselves slaves to the wildest and most enthusiastic 
dreams, could, when mingling with the world, conduct them- 
selves not only with good sense in difficulties and courage in 
dangers, but with the most acute sagacity and determined 
valor. The subsequent part of Mrs. Maclure’s information 
confirmed Morton in these impressions. 

“In the gray of the morning,” she said, “my little Peggy 
sail show ye the gate to him before the sodgers are up. But 
ye maun let his hour of danger, as he ca’s it, be ower, afore 
ye venture on him in his place of refuge. Peggy will tell ye 
when to venture in. She kens his ways weel, for whiles she 
carries him some little helps that he canna do without to sus- 
tain life.” 

“ And in what retreat, then,” said Morton, “has this un- 
fortunate person found refuge ? ” 

“ An awsome place,” answered the blind woman, “ as ever 
living creature took refuge in. They ca’ it the Black Linn 
of Linklater. IPs a doleful place ; but he loves it abune a , 
others, because he has sae often been in safe hiding there ; 
and it's my belief he prefers it to a tapestried chamber and a 
down bed. But ye’ll see’t. I hae seen it mysell mony a day 
syne. I was a daft hempie lassie then, and little thought 
what was to come o’t. Wad ye choose ony thing, sir, ere ye 
betake yoursell to your rest, for ye maun stir wi’ the first 
dawn o’ the gray light ? ” 

“Nothing more, my good mother,” said Morton; and 
they parted for the evening. 

Morton recommended himself to Heaven, threw himself 
on the bed, heard, between sleeping and waking, the tramp- 
ling of the dragoon horses at the riders’ return from their 
patrol, and then slept soundly after such painful agitation. 


CHAPTER XLIII 


The darksome cave they enter, where they found 
The accursed man, low sitting on the ground, 

Musing full sadly in his sullen mind. 

Spenser. 

As the morning began to appear on the mountains, a gentle 
knock was heard at the door of the humble apartment in 
which Morton slept, and a girlish treble voice asked him from 
without, “If he wad please gang to the Linn or the folk 
raise ?” 

He arose upon the invitation, and, dressing himself hastily, 
went forth and joined his little guide. The mountain maid 
tripped lightly before him, through the gray haze, over hill and 
moor. It was a wild and varied walk, unmarked by any reg- 
ular or distinguishable track, and keeping, upon the whole, 
the direction of the ascent of the brook, though without tra- 
cing its windings. The landscape, as they advanced, became 
waster and more wild, until nothing but heath and rock encum- 
bered the side of the valley. 

• “Is the place still distant ? ” said Morton. 

“Nearly a mile off,” answered the girl. “ WeTl be there 
belyve.” 

“ And do you often go this wild journey, my little maid ? 

“ When grannie sends me wP milk and meal to the Linn,” 
answered the child. 

“ And are you not afraid to travel so wild a road alone ?” 

“ Hout na, sir,” replied the guide ; “ nae living creature 
wad touch sic a bit thing as I am, and grannie says we need 
never fear onvthing else when we are doing a gude turn.” 

“ Strong in innocence as in triple mail ! ” said Morton to 
himself, and followed her steps in silence. 

They soon came to a decayed thicket, where brambles and 
thorns supplied the room of the oak and birches of which it 
had once consisted. Here the guide turned short off the open 
heath, and by a sheep track conducted Morton to the brook. 
A hoarse and sullen roar had in part prepared him for the scene 
which presented itself, yet it was not to be viewed without 

877 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


m 

surprise and even terror. When he emerged from the devious 
path which conducted him through the thicket, he found him- 
self placed on a ledge of flat rock, projecting over one side of 
a chasm not less than a hundred feet deep, where the dark 
mountain-stream made a decided and rapid shoot over the 
precipice, and was swallowed up by a deep, black, yawning 
gulf. The eye in vain strove to see the bottom of the fall ; it 
could catch but one sheet of foaming uproar and sheer de- 
scent, until the view was obstructed by the projecting crags 
which enclosed the bottom of the waterfall, and hid from 
sight the dark pool which received its tortured waters ; far 
beneath, at the distance of perhaps a quarter of a mile, the 
eye caught the winding of the stream as it emerged into a 
more open course. But for that distance they were lost to sight 
as much as if a cavern had been arched over them ; and indeed 
the steep and projecting ledges of rock through which they 
wound their way in darkness were very nearly closing and over- 
roofing their course. 

While Morton gazed at this scene of tumult, which seemed, 
by the surrounding thickets and the clefts into which the 
waters descended, to seek to hide itself from every eye, his 
little attendant, as she stood beside him on the platform of 
rock which commanded the best view of the fall, pulled him 
by the sleeve, and said, in a tone which he could not hear 
without stooping his ear near the speaker, “ Hear till him ! 
Eh ! hear till him ! ” 

Morton listened more attentively, and out of the very abyss 
into which the brook fell, and amidst the tumultuary sounds 
of the cataract, thought he could distinguish shouts, screams, 
and even articulate words, as if the tortured demon of the 
stream had been mingling his complaints with the roar of his 
broken waters. 

“ This is the way,” said the little girl; “follow me, gin 
ye please, sir, but tak tent to your feet;” and, with the dar- 
ing agility which custom had rendered easy, she vanished from 
the platform on which she stood, and, by notches and slight 
projections in the rock, scrambled down its face into the 
chasm which it overhung. Steady, bold, and active, Morton 
hesitated not to follow her ; but the necessary attention to 
secure his hold and footing in a descent where both foot and 
hand were needful for security, prevented him from looking 
around him, till, having descended nigh twenty feet, and 
being sixty or seventy above the pool which received the fall, 
his guide made a pause, and he again found himself by her 
side in a situation that appeared equally romantic and pre- 



The Cataract of Linklater. 



OLD MORTALITY 


S79 

carious. They were nearly opposite to the waterfall, and in 
point of level situated at about one-quarter’s depth from the 
point of the cliff over which it thundered, and three-fourths 
of the height above the dark, deep, and restless pool which 
received its fall. Both these tremendous points, the first 
shoot, namely, of the yet unbroken stream, and the deep and 
sombre abyss into which it was emptied, were full before him, 
as well as the whole continuous stream of billowy froth, which, 
dashing from the one, was eddying and boiling in the other. 
They were so near this grand phenomenon that they were 
covered with its spray, and well-nigh deafened by the inces- 
sant roar. But crossing in the very front of the fall, and at 
scarce three yards’ distance from the cataract, an old oak-tree, 
flung across the chasm in a manner that seemed accidental, 
formed a bridge of fearfully narrow dimensions and uncertain 
footing. The upper end of the tree rested on the platform 
on which they stood, the lower or uprooted extremity ex- 
tended behind a projection on the opposite side, and was 
secured, Morton’s eye could not discover where. From be- 
hind the same projection glimmered a strong red light, which, 
glancing in the waves of the falling water, and tingeing them 
partially with crimson, had a strange preternatural and sinis- 
ter effect when contrasted with the beams of the rising sun, 
which glanced on the first broken waves of the fall, though 
even its meridian splendor could not gain the third of its full 
depth. When he had looked around him for a moment, the 
girl again pulled his sleeve, and pointing to the oak and the 
projecting point beyond it (for hearing speech was now out of 
the question), indicated that there lay bis further passage. 

Morton gazed at her with surprise ; for, although he well 
knew that the persecuted Presbyterians had in the preceding 
reigns sought refuge among dells and thickets, caves and cat- 
aracts, in spots the most extraordinary and secluded, although 
he had heard of the champions of the Covenant who had long 
abidden beside Dob’s Linn on the wild heights of Polmoodie, 
and others who had been concealed in the yet more terrific cav- 
ern nailed Crichope Linn, in the parish of Closeburn,* yet his 
imagination had never exactly figured out the horrors of such 
a residence, and he was surprised how the strange and roman- 
tic scene which he now saw had remained concealed from him, 
while a curious investigator of such natural phenomena. But 
he readily conceived that, lying in a remote and wild district, 
and being destined as a place of concealment to the perse- 
cuted preachers and professors of nonconformity, the secret of 

* See The Retreats of the Covenanters. Note 37. 


380 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


its existence was carefully preserved by the few shepherds to 
whom it might be known. 

As, breaking from these meditations, he began to consider 
how he should traverse the doubtful and terrific bridge, which, 
skirted by the cascade, and rendered wet and slippery by its 
constant drizzle, traversed the chasm above sixty feet from the 
bottom of the fall, his guide, as if to give him courage, tripped 
over and back without the least hesitation. Envying for a 
moment the little bare feet which caught a safer hold of the 
rugged side of the oak than he could pretend to with his heavy 
boots, Morton nevertheless resolved to attempt the passage, 
and, fixing his eye firm on a stationary object on the other 
side, without allowing his head to become giddy, or his atten- 
tion to be distracted by the flash, the foam, and the roar of 
the waters around him, he strode steadily and safely along the 
uncertain bridge, and reached the mouth of a small cavern on 
the further side of the torrent. Here he paused ; fora light, 
proceeding from a fire of red-hot charcoal, permitted him to 
see the interior of the cave, and enabled him to contemplate 
the appearance of its inhabitant, by whom he himself could 
not be so readily distinguished, being concealed by the shadow 
of the rock. What he observed would by no means have en- 
couraged a less determined man to proceed with the task which 
he had undertaken. 

Burley, only altered from what he had been formerly by 
the addition of a grisly beard, stood in the midst of the cave, 
with his clasped Bible in one hand and his drawn sword in 
the other. His figure, dimly ruddied by the light of the red 
charcoal, seemed that of a fiend in the lurid atmosphere of 
Pandemonium, and his gestures and words, as far as they 
could be heard, seemed equally violent and irregular. All 
alone, and in a place of almost unapproachable seclusion, his 
demeanor was that of a man who strives for life and death 
with a mortal enemy. “Ha ! ha! there — there!" he ex- 
claimed, accompanying each word with a thrust, urged with 
his whole force against the impassible and empty air. “ Did 
I not tell thee so ? I have resisted, and thou fleest from me ! 
Coward as thou art, come in all thy terrors — come with mine 
own evil deeds, which render thee most terrible of all ; there 
is enough betwixt the boards of this book to rescue me ! 
What mutterest thou of gray hairs ? It was well done to slay 
him : the more ripe the corn the readier for the sickle. Art 
gone ? — art gone ? I have ever known thee but a coward — 
ha ! ha ! ha ! ” 

With these wild exclamations he sunk the point of his 


Old mortality 


sword, and remained standing still in the same posture, like 
a maniac whose fit is over. 

“The dangerous time is by now," said the little girl, who 
had followed; “it seldom lasts beyond the time that. the 
sun’s ower the hill* Ye may gang in and speak wi’ him now. 
I’ll wait for you at the other side of the Linn ; he canna bide 
to see twa folk at anes.” 

Slowly and cautiously, and keeping constantly upon his 
guard, Morton presented himself to the view of his old asso- 
ciate in command. 

“What! comest thou again when thine hour is over?” 
was his first exclamation ; and flourishing his sword aloft, his 
countenance assumed an expression in which ghastly terror 
seemed mingled with the rage of a demoniac. 

“ I am come, Mr. Balfour,” said Morton, in a steady and 
composed tone, “to renew an acquaintance which has been 
broken off since the fight of Bothwell Bridge.” 

As soon as Burley became aware that Morton w r as before 
him in person — an idea which he caught with marvellous ce- 
lerity — he at once exerted that mastership over his heated and 
enthusiastic imagination the power of enforcing which was a 
most striking part of his extraordinary character. He sunk 
his sword-point at once, and as he stole it composedly into 
the scabbard, he muttered something of the damp and cold 
which sent an old soldier to his fencing exercise to prevent 
his blood from chilling. This done, he proceeded in the 
cold determined manner which was peculiar to his ordinary 
discourse. 

“ Thou hast tarried long, Henry Morton, and hast not 
come to the vintage before the twelfth hour has struck. Art 
thou yet willing to take the right hand of fellowship, and be 
one with those who look not to thrones or dynasties, but to the 
rule of Scripture, for their directions ? ” 

“I am surprised,” said Morton, evading the direct answer 
to his question, “that you should have known me after so 
many years.” 

“ The features of those who ought to act with me are en- 
graved on my heart,” answered Burley ; “and few but Silas 
Morton’s son durst have followed me into this my castle of 
retreat. Seest thou that drawbridge of Nature’s own con- 
struction?” he added, pointing to the prostrate oak-tree; 
“ one spurn of my foot, and it is overwhelmed in the abyss 
below, bidding foemen on the farther sidest and at defiance, 
and leaving enemies on this at the mercy of one who never yet 
met his equal in single fight.” 


383 WAVERLEY NOVELS 

“ Of such defences,” said Morton, “ I should have thought 
you would now have had little need.” 

“ Little need ?” said Burley, impatiently. “ What little 
need, when incarnate fiends are combined against me on 

earth, and Satan himself But it matters not,” added he, 

checking himself. “Enough that I like my place of refuge 
— my cave of Adullam — and would not change its rude ribs 
of limestone rock for the fair chambers of the castle of the 
Earls of Tor wood, with their broad bounds and barony. Thou, 
unless the foolish fever- fit be over, mayst think differently.” 

“ It was of those very possessions I came to speak,” said 
Morton ; “and I doubt not to find Mr. Balfour the same 
rational and reflecting person which I knew him to be in times 
when zeal disunited brethren.” 

“ Ay ? ” said Burley ; “ indeed ? Is such truly your hope ? 
wilt thou express it more plainly ?” 

“In a word, then,” said Morton, “you have exercised, by 
means at which I can guess, a secret but most prejudicial in- 
fluence over the fortunes of Lady Margaret Bellenden and 
her granddaughter, and in favor of that base, oppressive apos- 
tate, Basil Olifant, whom the law, deceived by thy operations, 
has placed in possession of their lawful property.” 

“Savest thou ?” said Balfour. 

“ I do say so,” replied Morton ; “and face to face you will 
not deny what you have vouched by your handwriting.” 

“ And suppose I deny it not ?” said Balfour, “ and sup- 
pose that thy eloquence were found equal to persuade me to 
retrace the steps I have taken on matured resolve, what will 
be thy meed ? Dost thou still hope to possess the fair-haired 
girl, with her wide and rich inheritance ? ” 

“ I have no such hope,” answered Morton, calmly. 

“ And for whom, then, hast thou ventured to do this great 
thing, to seek to rend the prey from the valiant, to bring forth 
food from the den of the lion, and to extract sweetness from 
the maw of the devourer ? For whose sake hast thou under- 
taken to read this riddle, more hard than Samson’s ? ” 

“ For Lord Evandale’s and that of his bride,” replied 
Morton, firmly. “ Think better of mankind, Mr. Balfour, and 
believe there are some who are willing to sacrifice their happi- 
ness to that of others.” 

“ Then, as my soul liveth,” replied Balfour, “ thou art, to 
wear beard, and back a horse, and draw a sword, the tamest 
and most gall-less puppet that ever sustained injury unavenged. 
What ! thou wouldst help that accursed Evandale to the arms 
of the woman that thou lovest ? thou wouldst endow them 


OLD MORTALITY 


383 


with wealth and with heritages, and thoa think’st that there 
lives another man, offended even more deeply than thou, yet 
equally cold-livered and mean-spirited, crawling upon the face 
cf the earth, and hast dared to suppose that one other to be 
John Balfour ?” 

“ For my own feelings/’ said Morton, composedly, “ I 
am answerable to none but Heaven. To you, Mr. Balfour, I 
should suppose it of little consequence whether Basil Olifant 
or Lord Evandale possess these estates.” 

“ Thou art deceived,” said Burley ; “both are indeed in 
outer darkness, and strangers to the light, as he whose eyes 
have never been opened to the day. But this Basil Olifant is 
a Nabal, a Demas, a base churl, whose wealth and power are 
at the disposal of him who can threaten to deprive him of 
them. He became a professor because he was deprived of 
these lands of Tillietudlem ; he turned a Papist to obtain 
possession of them ; he called himself an Erastian, that he 
might not again lose them ; and he will become what I list 
while I have in my power the document that may deprive him 
of them. These lands are a bit between his jaws and a hook 
in his nostrils, and the rein and the line are in my hands to 
guide them as I think meet ; and his they shall therefore be, 
unless I had assurance of bestowing them on a sure and sin- 
cere friend. But Lord Evandale is a Malignant, of heart like 
flint and brow like adamant ; the goods of the world fall on 
him like leaves on the frost-bound earth, and unmoved he 
will see them whirled off by the first wind. The heathen 
virtues of such as he are more dangerous to us than the sordid 
cupidity of those who, governed by their interest, must follow 
where it leads, and who, therefore, themselves the slaves of 
avarice, may be compelled to work in the vineyard, were it 
but to earn the wages of sin.” 

“ This might have been all well some y ears since,” replied 
Morton ; “ and I could understand your argument, although 
I could never acquiesce in its justice. But at this crisis it 
seems useless to you to persevere in keeping up an influence 
which can no longer be directed to an useful purpose. The 
land has peace, liberty, and freedom of conscience, and what 
would you more ? ” 

“More !” exclaimed Burley, again unsheathing his sword, 
with a vivacity which nearly made Morton start. “ Look at 
the notches upon that weapon ; they are three in number, 
are they not ? ” 

“ It seems so,” answered Morton ; “but what of that ?” 

“The fragment of steel that parted from this first gap 


384 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


rested on the skull of the perjured traitor who first introduced 
Episcopacy into Scotland ; this second notch was made in the 
rib-bone of an impious villain, the boldest and best soldier that 
upheld the prelatic cause at Drumclog ; this third was bro- 
ken on the steel headpiece of the captain who defended the 
Chapel of Holyrood when the people rose at the Revolution. 
I cleft him to the teeth through steel and bone. It has done 
great deeds this little weapon, and each of these blows was a 
deliverance to the church. This sword/’ he said, again sheath- 
ing it, “ has yet more to do — to weed out this base and pesti- 
lential heresy of Erastianism, to vindicate the true liberty of 
the kirk in her purity, to restore the Covenant in its glory ; 
then let it moulder and rust beside the bones of its master.” * 

“ You have neither men nor means, Mr. Balfour, to dis- 
turb the government as now settled,” argued Morton ; “ the 
people are in general satisfied, excepting only the gentlemen 
of the Jacobite interest ; and surely you would not join with 
those who would only use you for their own purposes ? ” 

“ It is they,” answered Burley, “that should serve ours. 
I went to the camp of the Malignant Claver’se, as the future 
King of Israel sought the land of the Philistines ; I arranged 
with him a rising, and, but for the villain Evandale, the Eras- 
tians ere now had been driven from the west. I could slay 
him,” he added, with a vindictive scowl, “ were he grasping 
the horns of the altar ! ” He then proceeded in a calmer 
tone : “If thou, son of mine ancient comrade, wert suitor for 
thyself to this Edith Bellenden, and wert willing to put thy 
hand to the great work with zeal equal to thy courage, think 
not I would prefer the friendship of Basil Olifant to thine ; 
thou shouldst then have the means that this document [he 
produced a parchment] affords to place her in possession of 
the lands of her fathers. This have I longed to say to thee 
ever since I saw thee fight the good fight so strongly at the 
fatal Bridge. The maiden loved thee and thou her.” 

Morton replied firmly, “ I will not dissemble with you, 
Mr. Balfour, even to gain a good end. I came in hopes to 
persuade you to do a deed of justice to others, not to gain 
any selfish end of my own. I have failed. I grieve for your 
sake more than for the loss which others will sustain by your 
injustice.” 

“You refuse my proffer, then ?” said Burley, with kind- 
ling eyes. 

“I do,” said Morton. “ Would you be really, as you are 
desirous to be thought, a man of honor and conscience, you 

* See Predictions of the Covenanters. Note 38. 


OLD MORTALITY 


386 


would, regardless of all other considerations, restore that 
parchment to Lord Evandale, to be used for the advantage 
of the lawful heir.” 

“Sooner shall it perish !” said Balfour ; and, casting the 
deed into the heap of red charcoal beside him, pressed it down 
with the heel of his boot. 

While it smoked, shrivelled, and crackled in the flames, 
Morton sprang forward to snatch it, and Burley catching 
hold of him, a struggle ensued. Both were strong men, hut 
although Morton was much the more active and younger of 
the two, yet Balfour was the most powerful, and effectually 
prevented him from rescuing the deed until it was fairly re- 
duced to a cinder. They then quitted hold of each other, 
and the enthusiast, rendered fiercer by the contest, glared on 
Morton with an eye expressive of frantic revenge. 

“Thou hast my secret,” he exclaimed; “ thou must be 
mine or die ! ” 

“I contemn your threats,” said Morton ; “I pity you, 
and leave you.” 

But, as he turned to retire, Burley stepped before him, 
pushed the oak-trunk from its resting-place, and, as it fell 
thundering and crashing into the abyss beneath, drew his 
sword, and cried out, with a voice that rivalled the roar of 
the cataract and the thunder of the falling oak — “Now thou 
art at bay ! fight, yield, or die ! ” and standing in the mouth 
of the cavern, he flourished his naked sword. 

“ I will not fight with the man that preserved my father's 
life,” said Morton ; “I have not yet learned to say the words, 
‘ I yield ; ' and my life I will rescue as I best can.” 

So speaking, and ere Balfour was aware of his purpose, 
he sprang past him, and, exerting that youthful agility of 
which he possessed an uncommon share, leaped clear across 
the fearful chasm which divided the mouth of the cave from 
the projecting rock on the opposite side, and stood there safe 
and free from his incensed enemy. He immediately ascended 
the ravine, and, as he turned, saw Burley stand for an instant 
aghast with astonishment, and then, with the frenzy of dis- 
appointed rage, rush into the interior of his cavern. 

It was not difficult for him to perceive that this unhappy 
man's mind had been so long agitated by desperate schemes 
and sudden disappointments that ithad lost its equipoise, and 
that there was now in his conduct a shade of lunacy, not the 
less striking from the vigor and craft with which he pursued 
his wild designs. Morton soon joined his guide, who had been 
terrified by the fall of the oak. This he represented as acci- 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


dental ; and she assured him in return that the inhabitant of 
the cave would experience no inconvenience from it, being 
always provided with materials to construct another bridge. 

The adventures of the morning were not yet ended. As 
they approached the hut, the little girl made an exclamation 
of surprise at seeing her grandmother groping her way towards 
them, at a greater distance from her home than she could have 
been supposed capable of travelling. 

“0, sir, sir !” said the old woman, when she heard them 
approach, “gin e’er ye loved Lord Evandale, help now, or 
never ! G-od be praised that left my hearing when He took 
my poor eyesight ! Come this way — this way. And 0 ! tread 
lightly. Peggy, hinny, gang saddle the gentleman’s horse, 
and lead him cannily ahint the thorny shaw, and bide him 
there.” 

She conducted him to a small window, through which, 
himself unobserved, he could see two dragoons seated at their 
morning draught of ale, and conversing earnestly together. 

“ The more I think of it,” said the one, “ the less I like it, 
Inglis. Evandale was a good officer, and the soldier’s friend ; 
and though we were punished for the mutiny at Tillietudlem, 
yet, by ■, Frank, you must own we deserved it.” 

“ D — — n seize me, if I forgive him for it, though !” re- 
plied the other ; “and I think I can sit in his skirts now.” 

“ Why, man, you should forget and forgive. Better take 
the start with him along with the rest, and join the ranting 
Highlanders. We have all eat King James’s bread.” 

“ Thou art an ass ; the start, as you call it, will never hap- 
pen ; the day’s put off. Halliday’s seen a ghost, or Miss Bel- 
lenden’s fallen sick of the pip, or some blasted nonsense or 
another ; the thing will never keep two days longer, and the 
first bird that sings out will get the reward.” 

“That’s true, too,” answered hiscomrade; “and will this 
fellow — this Basil Olifant — pay handsomely ?” 

“Like a prince, man,” said Inglis. “Evandale is the 
man on earth whom he hates worst, and he fears him, besides, 
about some law business, and were he once rubbed out of the 
way, all, he thinks, will be his own.” 

“ But shall we have warrants and force enough ?” said the 
other fellow. “ Few people here will stir against my lord, and 
we may find him with some of our own fellows at his back.” 

“ Thou’rt a cowardly fool, Dick,” returned Inglis ; “he is 
living quietly down at Fairy Knowe to avoid suspicion. Olifant 
is a magistrate, and will have some of his own people that he 
can trust along with him. There are us two, and the Laird 


Old mortality 


38 * 

Says he can get a desperate fighting Whig fellow, called Quintin 
Mackell, that has an old grudge at Evandale.” 

“ Well, well, you are my officer, you know,” said the pri- 
vate, with true military conscience, “and if anything is 
wrong ” 

“ I'll take the blame,” said Inglis. “ Come, another pot of 
ale, and let us to Tillietudlem. Here, blind Bess ! why, where 
the devil has the old hag crept to ? ” 

“Delay them as long as you can,” whispered Morton, as 
he thrust his purse into the hostess's hand ; “all depends on 
gaining time.” 

Then, walking swiftly to the place where the girl held his 
horse ready — “To Fairy Knowe ? no ; alone I could not pro- 
tect them. I must instantly to Glasgow. Wittenbold, the 
commandant there, will readily give me the support of a troop 
and procure me the countenance of the civil power. I must 
drop a caution as I pass. Come, Moorkopf ,” he said, addressing 
his horse as he mounted him, “this day must try your breath 
and speed.” 


CHAPTER XLIY 


Yet could he not his closing eyes withdraw, 

Though less and less of Emily he saw ; 

So, speechless for a little space he lay. 

Then grasp’d the hand he held, and sigh’d his soul away. 

Palamon and Arcite. 

The indisposition of Edith confined her to bed during the 
eventful day on which she had received such an unexpected 
shock from the sudden apparition of Morton. Next morn- 
ing, however, she was reported to be so much better that 
Lord Evandale resumed his purpose of leaving Fairy Knowe. 
At a late hour in the forenoon. Lady Emily entered the apart- 
ment of Edith with a peculiar gravity of manner. Having 
received and paid the compliments of the day, she observed it 
would be a sad one for her, though it would relieve Miss Bel- 
lenden of an encumbrance — “My brother leaves us to-day. 
Miss Bellenden.” 

“ Leaves us ! ” exclaimed Edith, in surprise ; “ for his own 
house, I trust ? ” 

“I have reason to think he meditates a more distant jour- 
ney, w answered Lady Emily ; “ he has little to detain him in 
this country.” 

“ Good Heaven !” exclaimed Edith, “ why was I born to 
become the wreck of all that is manly and noble ? What can 
be done to stop him from running headlong on ruin ? I will 
come down instantly. Say that I implore he will not depart 
until I speak with him,” 

“It will be in vain, Miss Bellenden ; but I will execute 
your commission ; ” and she left the room as formally as she 
had entered it, and informed her brother, Miss Bellenden was 
so much recovered as to propose coming downstairs ere he 
went away. 

“ I suppose,” she added, pettishly, “the prospect of being 
speedily released from our company has wrought a cure on her 
shattered nerves.” 

“Sister,” said Lord Evandale, “you are unjust, if not 
envious.” 

“Unjust I may be, Evandale, but I should not have 


OLD MORTALITY 


389 


dreamt/* glancing her eye at a mirror, “ of being thought en- 
vious without better cause. But let us go to the old lady ; 
she is making a feast in the other room, which might have 
dined all your troop when you had one.** 

Lord Evandale accompanied her in silence to the parlor, 
for he knew it was in vain to contend with her prepossessions 
and offended pride. They found the table covered with re- 
freshments, arranged under the careful inspection of Lady 
Margaret. 

“Ye could hardly weel he said to breakfast this morning, 
my Lord Evandale, and ye maun e*en partake of a small colla- 
tion before ye ride, such as this poor house, whose inmates are 
so much indebted to you, can provide in their present circum- 
stances. For my ain part, I like to see young folk take some 
refection before they ride out upon their sports or their affairs, 
and I said as much to his most sacred Majesty when he 
breakfasted at Tillietudlem in the year of grace 1651 ; and bis 
most sacred Majesty was pleased to reply, drinking to my health 
at the same time in a flagon of Rhenish wine, ‘ Lady M ar- 
garet, ye speak like a Highland oracle.* These were his 
Majesty*s very words ; so that your lordship may judge 
whether I have not good authority to press young folk to par- 
take of their vivers.** 

It may be well supposed that much of the good lady*s 
speech failed Lord Evandale*s ears, which were then employed 
in listening for the light step of Edith. His absence of mind 
on this occasion, however natural, cost him very dear. While 
Lady Margaret was playing the kind hostess, a part she de- 
lighted and excelled in, she was interrupted by John Gudyill, 
who, in the natural phrase for announcing an inferior to the 
mistress of a family, said, “ There was ane wanting to speak 
to her leddyship.** 

“ Ane ! what ane ? Has he nae name ? Ye speak as if I 
kept a shop, and was to come at everybody*s whistle.** 

“Yes, he has a name,** answered John, “ but your leddy- 
ship likes ill to hear*t.** 

“ What is it, you fool ? ** 

“ It*s Calf Gibbie, my leddy/* said John, in a tone rather 
above the pitch of decorous respect, on which he occasionally 
trespassed, confiding in his merit as an ancient servant of the 
family, and a faithful follower of their humble fortunes — “ it*s 
Calf Gibbie, an your leddyship will hae*t, that keeps Edie 
Henshaw*s kye down yonder at the brig end ; that*s him that 
was Guse Gibbie at Tillietudlem, and gaed to the wappinshaw, 
and that -** 


390 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


‘ Hold your peace, John,” said the old lady, rising in dig- 
nity ; “you are very insolent to think I wad speak wi’ a per- 
son like that. Let him tell his business to you or Mrs. Head- 
rigg.” 

“ He’ll no hear o’ that, my leddy ; he says, them that sent 
him bade him gie the thing to your leddyship’s ain hand 
direct, or to Lord Evandale’s, he wots na whilk. But, to say 
the truth, he’s far frae fresh, and he’s hut an idiot an he 
were.” 

“Then turn him out,” said Lady Margaret, “and tell 
him to come back to-morrow when he is sober. I suppose he 
comes to crave some benevolence, as an ancient follower o’ the 
house.” 

“Like eneugh, my leddy, for lie’s a’ in rags, poor creat- 
ure.” 

Gudyill made another attempt to get at Gibbie’s commis- 
sion, which was indeed of the last importance, being a few 
lines from Morton to Lord Evandale, acquainting him with 
t-he danger in which he stood from the practices of Olifant, 
and exhorting him either to instant flight, or else to come to 
Glasgow and surrender himself, where he could assure him of 
protection. This billet, hastily written, he intrusted to Gib- 
bie, whom he saw feeding his herd beside the bridge, and 
backed with a couple of dollars his desire that it might in- 
stantly be delivered into the hand to which it was addressed. 

But it was decreed that Goose Gibbie’s intermediation, 
whether as an emissary or as a man-at-arms, should be un- 
fortunate to the family of Tillietudlem. He unluckily tarried 
so long at the ale-house, to prove if his employer’s coin was 
good, that, when he appeared at Fairy Knowe, the little sense 
which nature had given him was effectually drowned in ale 
and brandy, and instead of asking for Lord Evandale, he de- 
manded to speak with Lady Margaret, whose name was more 
familiar to his ear. Being refused admittance to her presence, 
he staggered away with the letter undelivered, perversely 
faithful to Morton’s instructions in the only point in which it 
would have been well had he departed from them. 

A few minutes after he was gone, Edith entered the apart- 
ment. Lord Evandale and she met with mutual embarrass- 
ment, which Lady Margaret, who only knew in general that 
their union had been postponed by her granddaughter’s in- 
disposition, set down to the bashfulness of a bride and bride- 
groom, and, to place them at ease, began to talk to Lady Emily 
on indifferent topics. At this moment, Edith, with a counte- 
nance as pale as death, muttered, rather than whispered, to 


OLD MORTALITY 


39 1 


Lord Evandale a request to speak with him. He offered his 
arm, and supported her into the small anteroom, which, as we 
have noticed before, opened from the parlor. He placed her 
in a chair, and, taking one himself, awaited the opening of 
the conversation. 

“ I am distressed, my lord,” were the first words she was 
able to articulate, and those with difficulty ; “ I scarce know 
what I would say, nor how to speak it.” 

“ If I have any share in occasioning your uneasiness,” 
said Lord Evandale, mildly, “ you will soon, Edith, be re- 
leased from it.” 

“ You are determined, then, my lord,” she replied, “ to 
run this desperate course with desperate men, in spite of your 
own better reason, in spite of your friends' entreaties, in 
spite of the almost inevitable ruin which yawns before you?” 

“ Forgive me, Miss Bellenden ; even your solicitude on 
my account must not detain me when my honor calls. My 
horses stand ready saddled, my servants are prepared, the 
signal for rising will be given so soon as I reach Kilsyth. If 
it is my fate that calls me, I will not shun meeting it. It 
will be something,” he said, taking her hand, “ to die de- 
serving your compa*ssion, since I cannot gain your love.” 

“ 0, my lord, remain ! ” said Edith, in a tone which went 
to his heart ; “ time may explain the strange circumstance 
which has shocked me so much ; my agitated nerves may re- 
cover their tranquillity. 0, do not rush on death and ruin ! 
Eemain to be our prop and stay, and hope everything from 
time.” 

“ It is too late, Edith,” answered Lord Evandale ; “ and 
I were most ungenerous could I practice on the warmth and 
kindliness of your feelings towards me. I know you cannot 
love me ; nervous distress, so strong as to conjure up the ap- 
pearance of the dead or absent, indicates a predilection too 
powerful to give way to friendship and gratitude alone. But 
were it otherwise, the die is now cast.” 

As he spoke thus, Cuddie burst into the room, terror and 
haste in his countenance. “ 0, my lord, hide yoursell ! they 
hae beset the outlets o' the house,” was his first exclamation. 

“ They ? Who ? ” said Lord Evandale. 

“ A party of horse, headed by Basil Olifant,” answered 
Cuddie. 

“ 0, hide yourself, my lord ! ” echoed Edith, in an agony 
of terror. 

“ I will not, by Heaven ! ” answered Lord Evandale. 
“ What right has the villain to assail me, or stop my passage? 


393 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


I will make my way, were he hacked by a regiment ; tell 
Halliday and Hunter to get out the horses. And now, fare- 
well, Edith ! ” He clasped her in his arms and kissed her 
tenderly ; then, bursting from his sister, who, with Lady 
Margaret, endeavored to detain him, rushed out and mounted 
his horse. 

All was in confusion : the women shrieked and hurried in 
consternation to the front windows of the house, from which 
they could see a small party of horsemen, of whom two only 
seemed soldiers. They were on the open ground before Cud- 
die’s cottage, at the bottom of the descent from the house, 
and showed caution in approaching it, as if uncertain of the 
strength within. 

“ He may escape — he may escape ! 99 said Edith, “ 0, would 
he but take the by-road ! ” 

But Lord E vandal e, determined to face a danger which his 
high spirit undervalued, commanded his servants to follow 
him, and rode composedly down the avenue. Old Gudyill ran 
to arm himself, and Cuddie snatched down a gun which was 
kept for the protection of the house, and, although on foot, 
followed Lord Evandale. It was in vain his wife, who had 
hurried up on the alarm, hung by his skirts, threatening him 
with death by the sword or halter for meddling with other 
folks’ matters. 

“Haud your peace, ye b ,” said Cuddie, “and that’s 

braid Scotch, or I wotna what is ; is it ither folks’ matters to 
see Lord Evandale murdered before my face ? ” and down the 
avenue he marched. But considering on the way that he 
composed the whole infantry, as John Gudyill had not ap- 
peared, he took his vantage-ground behind the hedge, ham- 
mered his flint, cocked his piece, and, taking a long aim at 
Laird Basil, as he was called, stood prompt for action. 

As soon as Lord Evandale appeared, Olifant’s party spread 
themselves a little, as if preparing to enclose him. Their 
leader stood fast, supported by three men, two of whom were 
dragoons, the third in dress and appearance a countryman, 
all well armed. But the strong figure, stern features, and 
resolved manner of the third attendant, made him seem the 
most formidable of the party ; and whoever had before seen 
him could have no difficulty in recognizing Balfour of Burley. 

“ Follow me,” said Lord Evandale to his servants, “ and if 
we are forcibly opposed, do as I do.” He advanced at a hand 
gallop towards Olifant, and was in the act of demanding why 
he had thus beset the road, when Olifant called out, “ Shoot 
the traitor ! ” and the whole four fired their carabines upon the 


OLD MORTALITY 


m 


unfortunate nobleman. He reeled in the saddle, advanced 
his hand to the holster, and drew a pistol, but, unable to dis- 
charge it, fell from his horse mortally wounded. His servants 
had presented their carabines. Hunter fired at random ; but 
Halliday, who was an intrepid fellow, took aim at Inglis, and 
shot him dead on the spot. At the same instant a shot from 
behind the hedge still more effectually avenged Lord Evan- 
dale, for the ball took place in the very midst of Basil Olifant's 
forehead, and stretched him lifeless on the ground. His fol- 
lowers, astonished at the execution done in so short a time, 
seemed rather disposed to stand inactive, when Burley, whose 
blood was up with the contest, exclaimed, “ Down with the 
Midianites ! 99 and attacked Halliday sword in hand. At this 
instant the clatter of horses' hoofs was heard, and a party of 
horse, rapidly advancing on the road from Glasgow, appeared 
on the fatal field. They were foreign dragoons, led by the 
Dutch commandant Wittenbold, accompanied by Morton and 
a civil magistrate. 

A hasty call to surrender, in the name of God and King 
William, was obeyed by all except Burley, who turned his 
horse, and attempted to escape. Several soldiers pursued him 
by command of their officer, but, being well mounted, only 
the two headmost seemed likely to gain on him. He turned 
deliberately twice, and discharging first one of his pistols and 
then the other, rid himself of the one pursuer by mortally 
wounding him, and of the other by shooting his horse, and 
then continued his flight to Bothwell Bridge, where, for his 
misfortune, he found the gates shut and guarded. Turning 
from thence, he made for a place where the river seemed pass- 
able, and plunged into the stream, the bullets from the pistols 
and carabines of his pursuers whizzing around him. Two balls 
took effect when he was past the middle of the stream, and he 
felt himself dangerously wounded. He reined his horse round 
in the midst of the river, and returned towards the bank he 
had left, waving his hand, as if with the purpose of intimat- 
ing that he surrendered. The troopers ceased firing at him 
accordingly, and awaited his return, two of them riding a 
little way into the river to seize and disarm him. But it 
presently appeared that his purpose was revenge, not safety. 
As he approached the two soldiers, he collected his remaining 
strength and discharged a blow on the head of one, which 
tumbled him from his horse. The other dragoon, a strong 
muscular man, had in the meanwhile laid hands on him. Bur- 
ley, in requital, grasped his throat, as a dying tiger seizes his 
prey, and both, losing the saddle in the struggle, came head- 


394 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


long into the river, and were swept down the stream. Their 
course might he traced by the blood which bubbled up to the 
surface. They were twice seen to rise, the Dutchman striv- 
ing to swim, and Burley * clinging to him in a manner that 
showed his desire that both should perish. Their corpses were 
taken out about a quarter of a mile down the river. As Bal- 
four’s grasp could not have been unclinched without cut- 
ting off his hands, both were thrown into a hasty grave, still 
marked by a rude stone and a ruder epitaph. f 

While the soul of this stern enthusiast flitted to its account, 
that of the brave and generous Lord Evandale was also released. 
Morton had flung himself from his horse upon perceiving his 
situation, to render his dying friend all the aid in his power. 
He knew him, for he pressed his hand, and, being unable to 
speak, intimated by signs his wish to be conveyed to the house. 
This was done with all the care possible, and he was soon 
surrounded by his lamenting friends. But the clamorous 
grief of Lady Emily was far exceeded in intensity by the 
silent agony of Edith. Unconscious even of the presence of 
Morton, she hung over the dying man ; nor was she aware 
that Fate, who was removing one faithful lover, had restored 
another as if from the grave, until Lord Evandale, taking 
their hands in his, pressed them both affectionately, united 
them together, raised his face as if to pray for a blessing on 
them, and sunk back and expired in the next moment. 

* See John Balfour called Burley. Note 39. 

t See Balfour’s Grave. Note 40. 


CONCLUSION 


I had determined to waive the task of a concluding chapter, 
leaving to the reader’s imagination the arrangements which 
must necessarily take place after Lord Evandale’s death. 
But as I was aware that precedents are wanting for a practice 
which might be found convenient both to readers and com- 
pilers, I confess myself to have been in a considerable dilemma, 
when fortunately I was honored with an invitation to drink 
tea with Miss Martha Buskbody, a young lady who has carried 
on the profession of mantua-making at Gandercleugh and in 
the neighborhood, with great success, for about forty years. 
Knowing her taste for narratives of this description, I re- 
quested her to look over the loose sheets the morning before 
I waited on her, and enlighten me by the experience which 
she must have acquired in reading through the whole stock 
of three circulating libraries in Gandercleugh and the two 
next market-towns. When, with a palpitating heart, I ap- 
peared before her in the evening, I found her much disposed 
to be complimentary. 

“ I have not been more affected,” said she, wiping the glasses 
of her spectacles, “ any novel, excepting the Tale of Jemmy 
and Jenny Jessamy , which is indeed pathos itself ; but your 
plan of omitting a formal conclusion will never do. You may 
be as harrowing to our nerves as you will in the course of your 
story, but, unless you had the genius of the author of Julia de 
Roubigne, never let the end be altogether overclouded. Let 
us see a glimpse of sunshine in the last chapter ; it is quite 
essential.” 

“ Nothing would be more easy for me, madam, than to 
comply w \ your injunctions; for, in truth, the parties in 
whom you nave had the goodness to be interested did live long 
and happily, and begot sons and daughters.” 

“It is unnecessary, sir,” she said, with a slight nod of 
reprimand, “to be particular concerning their matrimonial 
comforts. But what is your objection to let us have, in a 
general way, a glimpse of their future felicity ?” 

“ Really, madam,” said I, “ you must be aware that every 


396 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


volume of a narrative turns less and less interesting as the 
author draws to a conclusion ; just like your tea, which, though 
excellent hyson, is necessarily weaker and more insipid in the 
last cup. Now, as I think the one is by no means improved 
by the luscious lump of half -dissolved sugar usually found at 
the bottom of it, so I am of opinion that a history, growing 
already vapid, is but dully crutched up by a detail of circum- 
stances which every reader must have anticipated, even though 
the author exhaust on them every flowery epithet in the lan- 
guage.” 

“ This will not do, Mr. Pattieson,” continued the lady ; 
“ you have, as I may say, basted up your first story very hastily 
and clumsily at the conclusion ; and, in my trade, I would 
have cuffed the youngest apprentice who had put such a horrid 
and bungled spot of work out of her hand. And if you do 
not redeem this gross error by telling us all about the mar- 
riage of Morton and Edith, and what became of the other per- 
sonages of the story, from Lady Margaret down to Goose Gibbie, 
I apprise you that you will not be held to have accomplished 
your task handsomely.” 

<f Well, madam,” I replied, “ my materials are so ample that 
I think I can satisfy your curiosity, unless it descend to very 
minute circumstances indeed.” 

“ First, then,” said she, “ for that is most essential — Did 
Lady Margaret get back her fortune and her castle ? ” 

“ She did, madam, and in the easiest way imaginable, as 
heir, namely, to her worthy cousin, Basil Olifant, who died 
without a will ; and thus, by his death, not only restored, but 
even augmented, the fortune of her whom, during his life, 
he had pursued with the most inveterate malice. John Gua- 
yill, reinstated in his dignity, was more important than ever ; 
and Cuddie, with rapturous delight, entered upon the cultiva- 
tion of the mains of Tillietudlem, and the occupation of his 
original cottage. But, with the shrewd caution of his charac- 
ter, he was never heard to boast of having fired the lucky shot 
which repossessed his lady and himself in their original habita- 
tions. “ After a*,” he said to Jenny, who was his only confi- 
dant, “ auld Basil Olifant was my leddy’s cousin, and a grand 
gentleman ; and though he was acting again the law, as I un- 
derstand, for be ne’er showed ony warrant, or required Lord 
Evandale to surrender, and though I mind killing him nae 
mair than I wad do a muir-cock, yet it’s just as weel to keep 
a calm sough about it.” He not only did so, but ingeniously 
enough countenanced a report that old Gudyill had done the 
deed, which -was worth many a gill of brandy to him from the 


OLD MORTALITY 


397 


old butler, who, far different in disposition from Cuddie, was 
much more inclined to exaggerate than suppress his exploits 
of manhood. The blind widow was provided for in the most 
comfortable manner, as well as the little guide to the Linn : 
and ” 

“ But what is all this to the marriage — the marriage of 
the principal personages ? ” interrupted Miss Buskbody, im- 
patiently tapping her snuff-box. 

“ The marriage of Morton and Miss Bellenden was delayed 
for several months, as both went into deep mourning on "ac- 
count of Lord Evandale's death. They were then wedded.” 

“ I hope, not without Lady Margaret's consent, sir ?” said 
my fair critic. “ I love books which teach a proper deference 
in young persons to their parents. In a novel the young 
people may fall in love without their countenance, because it 
is essential to the necessary intricacy of the story, but they 
must always have the benefit of their consent at last. Even 
old Delville received Cecilia, though the daughter of a man of 
low birth.” 

“ And even so, madam,” replied I, “Lady Margaret was 
prevailed on to countenance Morton, although the old Cove- 
nanter, his father, stuck sorely with her for some time. Edith 
was her only hope, and she wished to see her happy ; Morton, 
or Melville Morton, as lie was more generally called, stood so 
high in the reputation of the world, and was in every other 
respect such an eligible match, that she put her prejudice 
aside, and consoled herself with the recollection that ‘ mar- 
riage went by destiny, as was observed to her,' she said, ‘by 
his most sacred Majesty, Charles the Second of happy memory, 
when she showed him the portrait of her grandfather Fergus, 
third Earl of Torwood, the handsomest man of his time, and 
that of Countess Jane, his second lady, who had a humpback 
and only one eye. This was his Majesty's observation,' she 
said, ‘ on one remarkable morning when he deigned to take 
his disjune "' 

“Nay,” said Miss Buskbody, again interrupting me, “if 
she brotight such authority to countenance her acquiescing in 
a misalliance, there was no more to be said. And what be- 
came of old Mrs. What's-her-name, the housekeeper ? ” 

“ Mrs. Wilson, madam ?” answered I. “ She was perhaps 
the happiest of the party ; for once a year, and not oftener, 
Mr. and Mrs. Melville Morton dined in the great wainscotted 
chamber in solemn state, the hangings being all displayed, 
the carpet laid down, and the huge brass candlestick set on 
the table, stuck round with leaves of laurel, The preparing 


898 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


the room for this yearly festival employed her mind for six 
months before it came about, and the putting matters to rights 
occupied old Alison the other six, so that a single day of re- 
joicing found her business for all the year round.” 

“And Niel Blane?” said Miss Buskbody. 

“ Lived to a good old age, drank ale and brandy with guests 
of all persuasions, played Whig or Jacobite tunes as best 
pleased his customers, and died worth as much money as mar- 
ried Jenny to a cock laird. I hope, ma’am, you have no other 

inquiries to make, for really ” 

“ Goose Gibbie, sir ? ” said my persevering friend — “ Goose 
Gibbie, whose ministry was fraught with such consequences 
to the personages of the narrative ? ” 

“ Consider, my dear Miss Buskbody— I beg pardon for the 
familiarity — but pray consider, even the memory of the re- 
nowned Scheherazade, that Empress of Tale-tellers, could not 
preserve every circumstance. I am not quite positive as to 
the fate of Goose Gibbie, but am inclined to think him the 
same with one Gilbert Dud den, alias Calf Gibbie, who was 
whipped through Hamilton for stealing poultry.” 

Miss Buskbody now placed her left foot on the fender, 
crossed her right leg over her knee, lay back on the chair, 
and looked towards the ceiling. When I observed her assume 
this contemplative mood, I concluded she was studying some 
further cross-examination, and therefore took my hat and 
wished her a hasty good-night, ere the Demon of Criticism 
had supplied her with any more queries. In like manner, 
gentle Beader, returning you my thanks for the patience which 
has conducted you thus far, I take the liberty to withdraw 
myself from you for the present. 


PERORATION 


It was mine earnest wish, most courteous Reader, that the 
Tales of my Landlord should have reached thine hands in 
one entire succession of tomes, or volumes. But as I sent 
some few more manuscript quires, containing the continua- 
tion of these most pleasing narratives, I was apprised, some- 
what unceremoniously, by my publisher, that he did not ap- 
prove of novels, as he injuriously called these real histories, 
extending beyond four volumes, and, if I did not agree to 
the first four being published separately,, he threatened to 
decline the article. (O, ignorance ! as if the vernacular 
article of our mother English were capable of declension !) 
Whereupon, somewhat moved by his remonstrances, and 
more by heavy charges for print and paper which he stated 
to have been already incurred, I have resolved that these 
four volumes shall be the heralds or avant-couriers of the 
Tales which are yet in my possession, nothing doubting 
that they will be eagerly devoured, and the remainder anx- 
iously demanded, by the unanimous voice of a discerning 
public. I rest, esteemed Reader, thine as thou shalt con- 
strue me, 

Jedediah Cleishbothah. 


Gandercleugh, Nov. 15, 1816. 










i 19 93 






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